


All Roads

by tattooslytherin



Series: Destinations [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Episode: s04e19 Jump the Shark, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-26
Updated: 2013-04-26
Packaged: 2017-12-09 14:29:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 28,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/775259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tattooslytherin/pseuds/tattooslytherin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Where is Sammy?" Dean asked, not even caring how ragged and desperate his voice sounded.  All this sitting quietly in anticipation was killing him. "What hell is going on?"</p><p>"Sammy?" Barton asked, startled.  He looked shocked for a moment before his eyes softened into a look of understanding.  "No, no son, Sam is fine.  I sorry for the confusion, but this isn't about your brother Sam.  It's about your other brother.  Adam."</p>
            </blockquote>





	All Roads

**Author's Note:**

> This is a Jump the Shark redo fic set 2 years before the show starts. Many lines of dialogue from the episode were used, re worked, and sometimes put in other character's mouths. 
> 
> Unbetaed, because I have no idea how to find one any more. All mistakes are mine. This is apparently the beginning of a series, so if you know how I can find a beta, let me know!

"Hey, this is John leave a message..."

Joe glanced through the small window set into his office door and looked at the boy sitting inside. He was hunched in on himself as if waiting for a blow, his backpack clutched defensively to his chest like a security blanket. His eye were glazed, his brows furrowed deeply, as he stared blankly at the office carpeting. He sat very still and small, not even squirming in the hard plastic chair while he waited. As the placid electronic voice instructed Joe on leaving a call back number, the boy looked up. Suddenly, self conscience under Joe‘s gaze, the boy sat up straighter. His face went smooth, only the tension around his eyes remaining, his worry too vast for a child, even one this self possessed, to hide completely. Joe turned his eyes away as the phone finally beeped.

"John? This is Joe Barton from Windom. You need to get out here as soon as you can. It's about your son."

ooooooooooooooooo

Dean cursed as a semi lumbered its way in front of him from the on-ramp. He whipped into the fast lane without looking, urging the shitty little Japanese monstrosity to go faster, hand’s clenching at the wheel in a desperate bid to stay in control. He should have known the car would be slow when he grabbed it. The thing was beige. But, at the time, he'd had no choice. Something was wrong with Sammy.

Dean had been unplugging the cell phones from their chargers and checking them for messages as he looked over his gear, stowing away anything he didn‘t need. It was late and he had just finished the salt and burn he had scrounged up in town. There was nothing left to do here except while away the hours until his dad returned to pick him up. He had thought about going out and getting a beer or something harder, but this was small town Ohio. The only liquor store was already closed and the local watering hole had lost its appeal days ago. 

He was tired, a deep aching tired that was from more then this hunt, though it hadn‘t helped. The damn ghost had broken the salt line and dumped his ass into the grave twice before he could light the bones. No, he had been fighting this tired for months, and it always reared it‘s head when his father was away. It was harder hunting alone, but he was more then old enough now to handle it. He’d never been comfortable waiting quietly for his dad to pick him up, especially now that he was twenty three. So, he had found himself a hunt. The ghost had been weak, luring kids into an abandoned building on the outskirts of town and throwing things around. No one had been seriously hurt, not yet, but Dean thought it best not to wait. And now that it was over, with that bone deep tiredness seeping through his body, he still couldn’t seem to shut his mind down. Something was worrying him.

In fact, something had been plaguing him for days. Something was off, he just didn’t know what, and it left him yearning for movement, something to do to keep this nagging impulse to act under control. Not that he could do anything, if something was wrong. He was stuck here, cut off from everyone, until his father returned. In the meantime he figured he'd load up, sit back, and enjoy the motel’s fine selection of pay per view until something relaxed enough to let him rest. Or he collapsed. Which ever came first. It would hardly be the first time he had worked himself into exhaustion. He hoped Dad got back early. It really was time Dean had his own car; he couldn't keep having his dad drop him off for hunts.

He was just pulling the last cell from its cord, when he saw there was a message. His heart hammered a little faster in his chest. It was an older cell, one of his father's, but he kept it charged just in case. In case his dad, or some one they had helped in the past, had needed him. In case Sammy needed him. Dean had tensed in anticipation as he held the phone up to his ear. As he listened to the terse message, that restless feeling sharpened suddenly and seemed to stab straight through his chest. He didn't know anyone named Barton, but he must have known them, to have this number. Grabbing the closest piece of paper, a slightly greasy receipt from last night’s dinner, he wrote down the info and shoved it into his pocket, trying to shove the sick feeling in his gut down with it. He couldn't even remember packing up the rest of his gear. Leaving the key on the dresser, he slipped out the door and scanned the parking lot. He found the car farthest from the orange glow of the street lights and, using his homemade slim jim, he had slipped the lock quickly. He had barely gotten the car to turn over as he fumbled the wires in shaking hands, and he hoped the squeal of tires hadn't drawn any attention as he pulled out of the parking lot. The vacancy sign was a red blur as he sped west.

Something was wrong with Sammy. Dean felt it in every beat of his heart, a sick dread itching in his brain and under his skin vibrating in time with the engine as he pushed the car to go faster. It was a familiar feeling. It was the feeling he got anytime someone in his family was in trouble. He didn't need to know where they were, or what they were doing, he just knew. He never talked about it, not that anyone had ever asked, but he knew this instinct, whatever it was, had saved their lives more then once. That instinct was screaming inside him now. He concentrated on the road, on the blur of the white line, the rattle and whistle of wind from the panel gaps in the rattely old Toyota, on the white noise of country music and static from the stereo station, on anything to keep it together, to keep that feeling from overwhelming him. He missed the Impala with a fierce longing, his baby would probably have gotten there by now. Dean had tried the number Barton left, three times now, but it was after midnight. Dean picked up his phone from the cracked plastic cup holder and hit redial anyway.

"This is Sheriff Barton. I'm away from my desk right now. If this is an emergency...."

"Yes it's a fucking emergency!" Dean yelled, not waiting for the canned voice to finish before throwing the phone into the passenger's seat with more force then necessary. What kind of podunk sheriff's station didn't have someone there at night? How were they supposed to keep people safe if they were at home sleeping? 

Dean clenched harder at the steering wheel, his knuckles going white, as he tried to turn his nagging fear into something he could handle. Something like rage. Because, damn it, Sammy was supposed to be safe at Stanford. He made sure of that, kept making sure every few months. He knew Dad did as well. It was a Thursday night, just after midnight, Sam should be in his apartment studying, or on a date, or even at some mid week frat party, if the kid ever loosened up enough to party, making puppy dog eyes at that red head he had spotted him with the last time he had driven through campus to check up on him. The safe, boring, campus, where Sammy should be right now, not at some backwater Sheriff’s station. And for sure not in Windom fucking Minnesota.

oooooooooooooooooooo

"Hey! Hey can someone let me in." Dean yelled hoarsely. He rapped his knuckles sharply against the glass door of the Sheriff's station. Early morning light bounced off the gleaming golden star painted onto the glass, blinding him. It was just after six thirty in the morning and the office didn't open for another twenty minutes. Dean held his hands to his face and tried to peer inside. What he could see of the office was dimly lit in the emergency lighting that never turned off. There were people milling about inside, half awake, sipping from coffee mugs and chatting by the water cooler as they got ready to start another quiet day at the Cottonwood County Sheriff's station. Dean felt an irrational flush of anger race through him as watched. Frustrated, he slammed his palm against the doors feeling a rush of satisfaction at the noise it made. He jeered silently as one woman jumped at the bang, splashing her coffee down the front of her hideous floral print blouse. The woman blinked at him owlishly but made no move towards the door. 

Dean sighed in relief as his bids for attention finally yielded results. A uniformed man made his way to the door, searching through a massive bundle of keys that hung from a ring at his belt, jingling cheerfully as he walked. Dean could hear sound from outside. Finally, he found what he was looking for and unlocked the door. Dean tried not to fidget as the man pulled the door open a few inches before eyeing Dean suspiciously through his thick round glasses. 

Dean knew he looked ragged. Not that he had been the picture of health before tonight, but he could usually look presentable in public. But, after last night, he couldn't even pull that off. He had driven all night from Ohio to get here and had only made one stop to get gas and swap out license plates, surprising himself with how fast he pushed the stolen little clunker. He knew he should have ditched the car, but he hadn't wanted to waste any time. His dad would be furious when he found out.

Before he had taken off from the gas station, he had called his father. Of course, he hadn't picked up. Dean hadn't expected him too. He had thought about not calling, just handling the situation himself, but if Sam was in trouble with the law, or worse, he would need John's help. Dean might be twenty three, and Sam's brother, but he knew from bitter experience that these backwater cops would probably deny him info without the authority of his father. He had felt an old familiar surge of frustration at the idea of needing his father to take control, especially when it came to Sammy, but he pushed it down. 

The message Dean left had been terse and he had been unable to keep the fear and anger from his voice. He would probably catch hell for his attitude, and for leaving the motel, but he didn't care. He just hoped his dad was on the way. He knew things would just be worse if he didn’t tell John the situation. Sammy may have thought Dean followed their father blindly, but the truth was Dean was just too chicken shit to act when he disagreed. He knew if he had been braver, the last year would have been different. Hell, the last five years would have been different. But Dean wasn't brave, he had let things fall apart, even between him and Dad, and he wasn‘t ready to break a lifetime of habit now. 

He rarely saw his father anymore. At first John had kept him close, but the big Sammy shaped hole between them had been too much for either to bare. They had been working together less and less this last year. Dad would drop him off, sometimes near a hunt, sometimes not, and leave him for days, or weeks, at a time. Being treated like a child again had chaffed, so Dean had started looking for his own hunts and asking to be left near them. He had thought about taking off on his own, but had buried the thought. His family was broken enough right now, because of him. He still checked on Sammy, though. Nothing his dad could demand would ever stop him, not that his father ever had. Every few months, he would wait for his dad to leave him somewhere, then head out to California and spend a few days watching Sammy. He knew it was a little stalkery, but he just needed to see for himself that his brother was okay. Apparently, he needed to start checking up more often.

"How can I help you, son?" The officer asked, taking in Dean's jittery behavior and rough appearance, not even trying to mask his suspicion. Dean gritted his teeth at the tone. He hated being called son. Too many memories of condescending principals and teachers telling him he couldn't be the one to sign permission slips or go to parent teacher conferences for his brother, even after he was 18. He kept his mouth shut against the reply he wanted to give. He had to get inside.

"I'm here to see Sheriff Barton." Dean said, holding back a smirk as the other man's eyes widened. "My name is Dean Winchester. It's about my brother." The man's suspicion quickly faded to a look of surprise as he eyed Dean again before opening the door wider.

"Come on in."

ooooooooooooooooooooooo

Dean sat on the hard plastic visitors chair in the Sheriff’s office, hands clenched into fists as Barton finished talking to his deputy. The man who had let him into the building was none other then Sheriff Barton. Dean watched him impatiently as he shut the door with a quiet click. The Sheriff sat at his desk and looked at Dean pensively. He was shorter and nerdier then Dean had expected. His hair was dark and thinning and his eyes looked at Dean solemnly from behind giant old lady glasses.

"I was expecting your dad." He said after a moment. He looked weary as he watched Dean, his forearms resting on his desk as he leaned forward, and Dean felt a sickening lurch in his gut at how resigned the sheriff sounded.

"Where is Sammy?" Dean asked, not even caring how ragged and desperate his voice sounded. All this sitting quietly in anticipation was killing him. "What hell is going on?"

"Sammy?" Barton asked, startled. He looked shocked for a moment before his eyes softened into a look of understanding. "No, no son, Sam is fine. I sorry for the confusion, but this isn't about your brother Sam. It's about your other brother. Adam."

Dean felt as if he'd been sucker punched. For the first time in the last six hours all thoughts of Sammy left his head. In fact all his thoughts left him, along with most of the air in the room. It seemed like he could barely get enough breath to speak.

"Who?" Dean growled the anger clear in his voice. If this was some sick joke he was going to break this little nerd's glasses with his fist, Sheriff or not. He seethed as he waited for an explanation, anger rolling red and syrupy in his blood. He could feel it in the heated flush of his face as he watched the Sheriff sigh, rubbing his eyes up under his glasses, before he spoke.

"Your father really should be the one to be here."

Silently, Dean agreed.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

"Your dad came through here about fourteen years ago," Barton started. "Helped us with a little problem of the type only he could help with." The Sheriff trailed off watching Dean to see how he would react. Dean just nodded for him to continue, he didn't need the details, and with the way his head was buzzing, he probably wouldn't remember them anyway.

"He was injured and went to the ER. That's where he met Kate. Kate Milligan. She's a nurse, works the graveyard shift at the hospital. It seems they got rather friendly and, well let’s just say he left a little something behind."

Dean felt an unexpected rush of rage at his father sweep through him. His body tensed and everything took on a strange red tint as he tried to hold himself in check. He didn't even know why he was so pissed at the idea. It's not like his dad was a monk, or married. Except to his mom, some nagging little voice in his head reminded him. He felt some of his knuckles pop as he gripped the arm’s of his chair. Taking a deep breath, Dean forced himself to calm down. Having a tantrum over his father's irresponsibility would probably just get him arrested. He narrowed his eyes at the Sheriff, as a thought occurred to him.

"And what? You just thought you'd ring up my dad and tell him now?" He asked, ominous half formed thoughts racing through his head. His pulse raced as he wondered if this was some kind of trap.

"Personally, I never thought we'd see him again," Barton offered, with a weary smile. "But, about a year ago Adam convinced Kate to call him. John dropped everything and came back. Stayed for about a week."

Dean felt his stomach lurch so strongly he though he might puke. He didn‘t need to question if the Sheriff was lying. He didn't need too. He remembered the day his father found out. Sammy had only been gone a few months and Dean had woken in their current squat alone. Dad had slunk off in the night, leaving only a note saying he had business to take care of and commanding Dean to wait. It was fairly typical but, Dean had just known it was different this time. He had felt it. Irrationally, he had thought his dad had finally decided to leave him as well. He had gone out that night, gotten spectacularly drunk, met some locals with something a little stronger than alcohol, and spent the night trying to forget his fear and loneliness. He had awoken the next day naked, in a tangle of limbs and only a haze memory of the night before. It was the first night he had ever spent without his family. Dean tried to forget that desperate week of denial and all of the others since.

"So, what's wrong with him?" Dean asked, trying to get back to business. He knew he sounded cold, but it was all he could do to keep from falling apart. Barton looked at him in sympathy, like he knew Dean was going to crack any minute. Dean hated him for it.

"His mother's missing." The sheriff stopped suddenly as a soft tap sounded at his office door. Looking through the glass he nodded to the waiting deputy, before turning back to Dean. "Would you like to meet him?"

 

oooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Dean stopped at the door the Sheriff led him to and surveyed the room out of habit. It was some kind of break room. A long grey couch and a few uncomfortable looking grey chairs were the only furnishings. It was the type of cheap, uncomfortable, furniture found in offices and doctors waiting rooms throughout the country, probably the world, and they gave the drab little white room a rather depressing air. A couple of vending machines sat next to the door humming softly to his left and an ancient fridge sat against the opposite wall. It had a cheery sign in pink marker reminding everyone to label their food or it would be tossed. Dean didn’t even have the energy to sneer at it. Long florescent lights flickered over head, the erratic pulse making Dean’s head ache. There was only one entrance to the room and, judging by the looks he kept giving the door, the boy waiting inside felt just as trapped in here as Dean did. Dean watched as the Sheriff approached the kid, taking the time to really look at the boy claiming to be John Winchester's son.

Dean knew just looking at him, that this was his brother. It wasn’t just that fact that he looked familiar, there was just something about the kid that screamed family too him, some deeper sense of kinship, even then the kind he got from Uncle Bobby or Pastor Jim, who were family in all but blood. It was something he had only felt for Dad and Sammy. Plus, that feeling he got whenever Dad or Sammy were in trouble, that instinct that had driven him here in such a hurry, just got stronger when he looked at the kid.

The boy was thirteen, according to Barton, and he looked a lot like Sammy had at that age, right down to the defiant expression he gave the Sheriff, though this kid's look didn't quiet have the punch of Sammy's bitch face. And it wasn’t just Sammy he resembled. He had shaggy, dirty blonde hair that had been left a little long and it stuck out from his head in the same way Dean's did. But it was the eyes that were the most familiar. They were his Dad's eyes, large and blue, if just a shade lighter. There were differences as well. He had fair skin and a longer, thinner, face then any of them, but despite that, the resemblance was undeniable. Seeing this weird mix of him and Sammy and Dad hunched in on himself, clutching his backpack tightly to his chest and radiating fear and defiance, sent a pang through Dean's chest. The kid was family, no matter how Dean felt about that little revelation, and Dean could never stand seeing his family upset. Seeing Dean in the doorway, the kid tried to school his features, but the deep furrow between his brows lingered. Dean hung back to watch, not wanting to crowd the kid.

"Adam, there's someone I'd like you to meet." Barton said. Adam looked at Dean suspiciously, before turning to the Sheriff, his chin jutting out stubbornly. Dean couldn’t stop his smirk. Apparently stubborn was a Winchester trait.

"Have you found my mom, yet?" Adam demanded. He had tried to sound commanding, but his voice cracked at the end making him sound young and scared. Dean had a disconcerting flash of himself at that age, all false bravado and attitude, and of Sammy full of stubborn, righteous, teen fury. The kid tried to look impassive, but Dean could see it there, simmering under the surface of his placid gaze.

"I sorry Adam, there's still no leads. You know we're doing everything possible to find her." Adam looked away, snorting in disbelief. Dean silently agreed. The Sheriff continued on, unperturbed.

"Now this is Dean. He's your brother." The kid looked at Dean his eyes widening in shock. Dean winced at the Sheriff’s bluntness, but let it go. It's not like he could have done much better. "I'm going to release you into his custody until your dad shows up." Dean looked at Barton sharply, his mouth falling open to object.

"If John bother’s to show up." Adam interjected. Dean winced at the disdain in the kid’s voice. Fearing a tantrum of Sammy-esque proportions, Dean stepped in.

"He'll be here when he can," He said. Dean looked the kid in the eye, trying to project sincerity, and waited patiently while Adam studied him. Whatever he could see in Dean must have satisfied him. The kid said nothing, only nodded, his face going still once more, just a lingering tension around his eyes betraying his unease with the situation. Dean released the breath he hadn't even known he was holding.

"Does this mean I can go home?" Adam asked quietly, after a moment. Barton smiled at him softly and nodded.

"As long as Dean's with you, that's fine." The sheriff looked at Dean and motioned him towards the door. "We're just going to get everything sorted, then you can go."

oooooooooooooooooooooooooo

The next thirty minutes passed in a blur as exhaustion crept up on Dean.

".....we normally wait 48 hours to file, but since there's a minor involved....."

He sat quietly at the sheriff's desk as the man talked. Barton had taken Adam home with him last night, not wanting to involve social services just yet. Dean was grateful. His dad had an unreasonable hatred of social workers, and the system in general. The kind of hatred only found in people who had lived in the system and John had done everything in his power to keep his children from it. It has been drilled into Dean as a child to avoid them at all costs and he was glad he didn‘t have to deal with them now. Dean tried to stay focused as Barton continued.

"....mortgage is paid through to the end of the month, but if she's not found by then other arrangements will have to be made...."

He tried to retain as much as possible, sipping at the tepid coffee given to him by the secretary he had scared earlier, but very little stuck. He felt as if a weight was on his shoulders, pressing him into the hard plastic chair as he waited for the Sheriff to finish. This was more then he could handle, then he should have to handle, honestly, but it was hardly the first time he had been forced to shoulder more then he could bare. He was overcome with a sudden longing for his father, something he hadn’t felt since he was a very small child.

"Listen kid, are you sure you can handle this?" Barton asked, his eyes scanning Dean’s face closely. Dean tried to give him his most charming smile, the kind that had always got him extra pie from the waitresses who thought he looked lonely, but the Sheriff just raised an eyebrow at him and waited. Giving up, Dean nodded.

"I practically raised my brother. I think I can handle this kid for a few days." He told the Sheriff, standing up. He didn’t know if the other man was done talking, but he was done. If he didn’t get out of here soon he would do something embarrassing, like collapse. Or cry. He ignored the sad look on the other man's face as they shook hands. He didn’t need anyone’s pity.

Dean collected Adam from the break room and led him outside. The kid's head was bowed as they walked and he gripped that stupid backpack like his life depended on it. He was a little taller then Sam had been at that age, but just as scrawny. Dean felt his hands clench into fists as he fought a sudden urge to reach out and touch the kid, maybe pat his back or pull him closer. Anything to ease some of the tension in that gangly frame that was so disconcertingly familiar. Dean sighed as he stopped by the car.

"This is your car?" The kid asked voice full of surprise and disdain in equal measures as he looked from Dean to the crappy little Toyota. Dean winced as he took it in. It was old and ragged and a beige color looked even worse in the daylight.

"No, I... borrowed it. From a friend,” Dean replied trying to keep the defensiveness out of his voice. The look of disbelief on Adam's face was identical to the look Sammy had given him when had he tried to convince his little brother that Metallica was one of the greatest bands ever. He felt a tug in his chest at that look, so strong he almost winced. It seemed his new little brother would think he was just as cool as his old little brother had. The thought alone, sent a wave of exhaustion through him.

"John's car is much cooler," Adam said bluntly. Dean agreed with him, but the kid continued before he could get a word in. "Where is he? He is coming, isn't he? This isn't going to be like my birthday, is it? Cause I really don't mind that he couldn't make it, but if they can't find my mom I have no where else to go." The kid had tried to sound collected, but the edge of panic under his voice had made the words come out in a rush. The kid looked down suddenly, blinking hard, like he was holding back tears. Dean surprised himself as he reached for the kid’s shoulder pulling him closer.

"Hey there. Don't worry." Dean said, squeezing the kid's shoulder gently. “I said dad will be here and he will. I promise. And if he can't make it here, then we'll just go to him. Until then I'll look out for you as long as you need alright?" Dean pulled the kid into a quick awkward hug before releasing him and pushing him towards the car. "Now get in."

The kid took a shaky breath and nodded schooling his features once more. Dean had never met a kid who tried to act so stoic. Adam was still hunched over but it seemed some of the tension had left him at Dean's words. Dean silently hoped his dad would hurry. 

oooooooooooooooooo

It had been awkward trying to start the car without the kid seeing what he was doing. He had pretended to drop the keys, then stayed hunched over as he touched the two wires together until the engine turned over. He hadn’t thought his little pantomime was very convincing, but Adam didn’t seem to notice. The kid sat quietly in the passenger’s seat, ignoring Dean and staring thoughtfully out the window. The drive to Adam’s house was silent, save a few quiet directions, and Dean was grateful. The silence wasn't uncomfortable, at least Dean didn't think so, but he was so exhausted at this point he might not have noticed. They had only driven a few blocks when he felt the kid’s eyes on him.

"What, I got something on my face?" he asked finally, looking over at the kid. Adam’s brows were furrowed, giving the kid a worried look as he inspected Dean, but he shrugged and looked away when Dean‘s eyes met his. They drove a few more blocks in silence before Adam spoke.

"It's that one," he said pointing to one of the houses on the right. It was an older house, similar in style to the other homes they had passed. It was some kind of German design, Dean thought, and old fashioned with a steeply pitched roof and decorative beams across the front. It was modest, but well maintained with two stories and lots of windows. The front yard was full of bushes and a large tree grew to one side of the house, its branches carefully trimmed back from the second floor windows. Dean wondered if Adam had ever used that tree to sneak out. Or if something had used it to sneak in. Dean winced at the thought, glancing at the kid. It was going to be a bitch to salt this place.

Dean pulled into the drive way and stopped the car. There was enough large bushes lining the drive and the street to hide the car from casual view, but he still felt uncomfortable leaving a hot car out in the open. He'd see about putting it in the garage later.

They both got out of the car and Adam waited silently as Dean got his gear out of the back seat, where he had thrown it in his mad dash to get here. He slung his duffle full of clothes over one shoulder and picked up the two smaller bags in one hand. They held the cell phones and the weapons John had left with him, some protective charms, plenty of lighter fluid and hopefully enough salt to cover this place. He had no idea how he would explain it to the kid, but there was no way he was leaving them unprotected.

Dean followed Adam and watched as he took out his keys and opened the door. The keys were obviously Adam’s personal set, a Batman key charm hung from the ring, and he opened the door with practiced ease. Barton has said the kid’s mom worked nights, so Dean reasoned the kid must be used to being alone. Dean felt strangely relieved. He wouldn’t know what to do with a kid that couldn’t take care of himself.

Following Adam inside, Dean surveyed the place automatically, noting entrances and weaknesses and the best places to put devils traps, like his dad had drilled into him. There was a stair case right across from the front entryway that led to the second floor. To the right was a large cozy living room, to the left was a smaller dinning area and he could just see a kitchen down past the stairs. He assumed there were bedrooms upstairs. The place was warm and inviting. The walls were a neutral color and all the furniture was old and well worn. The dinning area had old fashioned high backed chairs and the couch in the living room looked plush and inviting. There were framed photo’s everywhere, hanging on the walls and placed on every available surface. Most were of Adam and a slender dark blonde woman with kind blue eyes. Dean felt something bitter twist in his stomach when he saw her. Seems like Dad had a type.

"This place have a basement?" Dean asked looking at Adam. The kid examined him as he surveyed the place, the furrow between his brows deepening at Dean’s question. He said nothing, just shook his head.

"Attic?" Adam shook his head no. 

"Ok, how about a guest room?" Dean asked, rolling his eyes. This game of charades was getting old. Instead of answering the kid took off upstairs. Hitching his duffle a little higher, Dean sighed and followed. Upstairs were three bedrooms, a large bathroom, and some kind of closet probably full of towels and things. Adam led him to the room farthest from the bathroom and opened the door. It was smallish and plain, with a full sized bed with white bedding, white walls with a few cheap art prints to make the room less sterile, and a little white dresser. There was a musty, disused quality to the room and a fine layer of dust coating everything. Despite the dust, it was nicer then most of the places he had ever lived. Dean almost asked if his dad stayed here when he visited, then grimaced. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know. 

"Thanks, it's great." Dean said with a tired smile, before dropping his bags on the bed. Adam seemed to relax at that. Dean cast a critical eye at the boy and decided the salting could wait.

"You hungry?” Dean asked, “I'm starving." Dean sighed in relief when the kid nodded. He could do food.

"I'm going to shower first," Adam said walking towards the room next to Dean's. He shut the door before Dean could say anything in return. Sighing, Dean went to his bags pulling out the salt. He might as well make good use of his time.

ooooooooooooooooo

Dean finished salting the last window down stairs, the small one above the kitchen sink. It had cheery yellow curtains and a few containers full of dieing plants. It looked like someone had attempted to grow herbs, but had forgotten to water them. Dean checked the contents of his salt bag. He probably had enough to do his room and Adam's, but he would have to get more to finish the job properly. Especially if they were going to stay here for any length of time. He turned from the window only to find Adam standing in the kitchen doorway, watching him curiously.

"Damn kid, don't sneak around like that." His said, his heart thumping harder and heavier then he expected at the minor fright. The coffee from this morning was wearing off and he knew he was going to crash, and soon, but he wanted to get the kid feed and settled first. Adam said nothing, just stared at the salt line on the window sill thoughtfully. Not sure how to explain what he was doing, Dean tried to distract the kid.

"So you hungry? What do you want to eat?" Dean asked opening the fridge and staring at the contents. "There's eggs. I make a mean scrambled egg. Or, if there's bread, we could do sandwiches."

"Eggs are fine," Adam replied quietly. "I'll make toast." They worked together quietly, Dean feeling too tired and awkward to break the silence with his usual banter.

When the food was ready, they sat down at the little square table in the kitchen and ate silently. Adam picked at his food at first, edgy and nervous as he ate, stealing glances at Dean out of the corner of his eye. Dean ignored him and dug in to his own eggs, chewing methodically. Adam soon relaxed and ate his own meal with a teenager’s typical veracity. He finished first and sat watching Dean from under his lashes. Dean hardly noticed his eyes drooping slowly as he tried to finish his food before he collapsed. Jerking his head up for the third time, Dean saw Adam absently dragging the tines of his fork through the dregs of hot sauce and grease, making abstract patterns in his plate. The worried furrow was back as he watched Dean nod off into his eggs.

"You look like crap," Adam explained when Dean raised an eyebrow at him. Dean almost laughed at the kid’s cheek. 

"Yeah, I‘m beat.” Dean agreed, smiling so wide he could feel his eye’s crinkle at the corners. He knew he probably looked dopey, but he couldn’t help it. He really needed a nap. “I don't get my four hours every few days, I'm useless." Dean said, standing up.

"You should sleep at least eight hours a night," Adam said reproachfully, frowning down at his plate. Dean just sighed. It figured he'd end up with two know it all brothers, and naggy one's at that. He tried not to think about Sam at this age, nagging him about all the burgers he ate telling him he would get fat, and covered in zits and die of a heart attack. He looked down at the kid, wondering if he would forever be comparing his two brothers, measuring this one against the memory of a boy who was gone and might never come back. Ignoring the sudden sting behind his eyes, Dean chastised himself for being such a girl and took his plate to the sink. He turned on the faucet, only jumping a little when Adam stepped up next to him, his plate in his hand. The kid was a ninja.

"I'll clean up,” Adam said unexpectedly. “You cooked, so it's only fair." Adam set his plate in the sink and reached for the sponge perched by faucet.

"Thanks kid," Dean said, surprised. 

"You could go take a nap or something," Adam continued, "You really do look like crap." 

Dean snorted at that, knowing the kid was probably right. He never let a little thing like exhaustion keep him down, but between last night’s drive, the hunt earlier and the girl the night before that, his usual inexhaustible reserves of energy were starting to run dry. Giving into an impulse, Dean patted the kid on the shoulder and gave it a little cautious squeeze; not quite a hug, but something friendly. Something the kid could pull away from if it was too much, too soon. Dean felt something uncoil inside him when Adam leaned closer before picking up Dean's dish to start washing.

"Gee, Thanks," Dean snarked, releasing Adam with a final pat and started towards the door, "But wake me up if you need anything. And stay inside." Dean paused a moment before giving into a sudden impulse, "And don't touch the salt lines."

When Adam just gave him a thoughtful nod, instead of the confused or curious looks he expected, Dean knew his instincts were right. He might not know what they meant, but Adam had seen salt lines before. Probably from spending time with their dad. 

"And when I wake up we'll talk, anything you want to know about me, about Dad even, you can ask." Dean said, watching the kid’s back thoughtfully as he stood at the sink. Dean dreaded that conversation, especially when his dad found out, but they were the only family the kid had and Dean didn't want to start out by lying to him. Even if that’s what John would have preferred. Turning away without waiting for a response, Dean grabbed his bag of salt off the counter and headed upstairs.

ooooooooooooooooooo

When Dean woke up it was early afternoon. The nagging little headache that had started behind his eyes was gone, and while he was no where near well rested, he as rested as he was going to get under the circumstances. He laid there a moment trying to will away the hard knot that had settled in his stomach, now that he had time to think. He had a little brother. Well, another one. 

Dean had just finished salting Adams room, when it really hit home. The room was painted a soft blue, with darker blue bedding on the full sized bed in one corner. He had a few posters taped to the walls, two posters of classic cars, a big one of the galaxy above his bed, and a near life sized anatomy print on the back of his bedroom door. Dean had smirked a little at that; the kid was definitely a nerd, just like Sammy. Under his window Adam had a small desk with a science text book and a note pad left out on top. Dean hadn't even seen the photo until he reached over the desk to pour the salt down on the sill. Next to a pencil filled mug with the logo for the some local Natural Science museum was a cheap plastic picture frame. It held a photo of Adam and John standing in front of the Impala. It wasn't a recent photo, the kid was a little shorter, his hair a little shaggier. Dean figured it was taken some time last year. In it, Adam was looking at up at John with a look somewhere between scared and worshipful, like he had just gotten everything he had ever wanted, but didn't know what to do with it. Dad was looking at the camera, one arm around Adam, a soft smile on his face that made his eyes crinkle. He looked happy. Dean hadn't seen Dad look like that since before Sammy was old enough to talk. Maybe even before that. 

Seeing his dad standing next to a kid who looked so much like a younger Sammy, looking happy and normal, had made something in his chest constrict and he had flipped the photo down before finishing the salt line. 

Dean stared at the ceiling of the guest room, trying to release the hard knot of tension in his stomach. He was pissed at his father. He had never felt this kind of rage directed at John before, not even when he had told Sammy to leave and not come back. But, as usual, Dad wasn’t here and he had his brother to worry about now. He didn’t want his relationship with Adam to be tainted with his rage at their father. He wondered how long John would keep doing this to him, before he finally broke. 

He though about packing the kid up and taking off, maybe going to Pastor Jim‘s or Uncle Bobby’s. Staying here in one place, where people knew his real name, made him uneasy now that he was an adult and could get thrown in jail. He was forced to wait for John though. He couldn’t go back to Ohio, and it was too soon to move on to a safe house. Plus, he suspected uprooting Adam wouldn't be as easy as all the times Dad had uprooted him and Sam. The kid was thirteen, he had a life here, friends, school, a house, the whole shebang. Someone would ask questions if he just disappeared. Just the thought of dragging Adam around after him and Dad made the hard knot in Dean‘s stomach tighten. Dean knew it was too late for him, he had practically been born to this life, but Adam hadn‘t. He wasn’t a hunter and, as far as Dean knew, he had no reason to want to be one. How long would it be before Adam hated this life as much as Sammy had? Before he hated them for dragging him into it? Dean didn't think he could handle loosing another brother, even one he hardly knew.

Dean sat up and pushed his depressing thoughts aside, before he turned into a girl and started weeping into his pillow or something else equally embarrassing. The kid’s mom had only been missing a few days, for all Dean knew she could come waltzing in the door any minute. Or some long lost uncle could come out of the wood work and claim the kid. He'd have to ask the kid about it. Nothing would really be settled until he got in contact with John, so until then he would do his duty, watch the kid and wait.

Dean got up and checked the salt lines before heading to the bathroom. After so many years of being drilled to check the salt lines, guard the room, keep his brother safe, the routine felt comfortable. After a year of being alone and not caring if something got in at night, of having no one to protect, it was comforting to have a purpose again. This was something he could do, and do well, until his dad came to tell him what to do next.

Heading down stairs he followed the quiet sound of voices and canned laughter until he found Adam. The kid sat on the couch in the living room, staring blankly at the TV. His eyes were a little red, but Dean couldn't really say if it was from crying or just plain exhaustion. Dean had to hand it to the kid, he was stoic. If it had been him or Sammy, or even Dad, in his situation there would have been a lot more angry outbursts. But Dean had a feeling that under that calm façade, the kid was a mess.

"Take a picture, it lasts longer," the kid snarked, turning to give him a tired little smirk before he returned to staring at the TV. A smart mouth must be a Winchester trait as well.

Dean came into the room and took the chair closest to Adam, wanting to sink back into it‘s plush embrace. He sighed, leaning forward instead. He almost wished he could go back to sleep but, despite his physical exhaustion, his mind was too wired to relax now. He wanted to get this over with. Sensing that now was the time for their big talk, Adam turned off the TV and sat up straighter on the couch. 

"Alright kid, I said you could ask me anything, so go ahead," Dean started. He braced himself, expecting the worst. Adam watched him for a moment before speaking.

"So you’re my brother, for real?" Adam asked. Dean doubted the kid would have come with him so easily if he hadn't believed Barton, but he wasn't surprised the kid wanted some kind of reassurance from him. Dean smiled tightly.

"Yeah, I even got proof," Dean replied before digging into his pocket for his wallet. Dean only had two family photos, just a faded picture of his mom holding a baby Sam, and this. John stood in the center of the picture looking grave and holding a shot gun, while Dean and Sam flanked him. Sammy had a vaguely pissed off look on his face, the same look he had worn through most of high school, like he was there under duress and had better things he could be doing. Dean had his typical bad ass smirk in place. The picture was black and white, taken by Uncle Bobby on some old camera he had found in the back of one of his junkers. He handed it carefully to Adam.

Adam's eyes scanned the photo intensely, taking it all in before speaking. 

"Who's that?" he asked.

"Sammy," Dean answered, "he's my... our brother. He's fifteen here, I was nineteen. That picture was taken about four years ago now." Dean let the kid do the math. He felt his hands clench together as he waited for the inevitable questions about Sam. Adam must have seen something on his face because he changed the subject.

"John's not a mechanic, is he?"

The question surprised Dean, even though he had been expecting is sooner or later. He had just been hoping for later.

"What makes you say that," Dean hedged. He was curious about what tipped the boy off.

"I don't know," Adam said thoughtfully, shrugging slightly. "He just had a look on his face when he told me. Kind of... shifty I guess. Plus, he's always traveling, but my friend Jeff, his dad is a mechanic and he never goes anywhere. Is John a spy?"

"No," Dean said, the memory of having this same conversation with Sammy coming vividly to mind. His heart gave a lurch as Adam watched him with the same expectant look on his face. "Even better,” Dean said, smiling sadly, echoing that long ago conversation. “Our dad’s a super hero.”

Dean explained, as best he could, what he and their father did. But Adam wasn't eight, and Dean wasn't twelve anymore, so he told the truth. As much of the truth as he thought the kid could handle anyway. He didn't want to sugar coat their life, but he didn't want to traumatize the kid either. He thought he had done a good job. The kid was looking at him a little wide eyed, like any sane person would, but he seemed to be handling it ok. When Dean finished, he sat back waiting for the inevitable disbelief. After a moment the kid spoke.

"So monsters are real?"

"Yep."

"And you and John hunt them?" The kid gave him a once over like he couldn't quiet believe Dean could do something like that. Dean just smirked back. Adam turned his gaze back towards the TV in thought.

"Okay," Adam breathed, after an excruciating moment, his voice gone high and shaky. Dean wrung is hands together, the kid sounded so young. "So basically you're saying that every movie monster, every nightmare that I've ever had, that's all real?" Adam stared vacantly at the TV screen, his eyes wide and glassy as the fear Dean had been expecting started creeping in.

"Godzilla's just a movie," Dean joked, giving Adam a cocky little smirk. The eye roll he received was worth it as something relaxed in the kid at the lame joke. Turning to look at Dean again the kid just nodded.

"Okay."

"Okay? That's it?" Dean asked nonplussed. That wasn't what he had expected. The kid just shrugged.

"What am I supposed to say?" 

"That I'm a liar, that I'm crazy" Dean said, the suspicion clear in his voice. "Nobody just says okay."

"Well, you're my brother right? You're telling me the truth?" Adam asked softly.

"Yeah."

"Then I believe you." Adam said. The trust in his eyes left Dean breathless. He wasn't expecting that, not so soon anyway. Dean felt overwhelmed by trust shining in the kid’s eyes, just because Dean was his big brother, was family. He couldn’t even remember the last time Sammy had looked at him like that. He reminded Dean so much of himself in that moment, of the absolute faith in family that Dean used to have, that Dean almost flinched. Dean felt something fierce in his chest at that look, something he used to only feel for Sammy, and he had to look away before he said or did anything to embarrass himself. 

"Do you think you could find my mom?" Adam asked, pleading and hope in his voice, and a little bit of fear, like he expected Dean to say no. It broke his heart a little to hear and he didn't think twice about his answer. He never could say no to family.

"I'll sure as hell try kid. Tell me what happened."

oooooooooooooooooooooooo

"You said the night stand was knocked over and nothing was missing?“ Dean asked as he surveyed the room that belonged to Adam’s mom. The bed was still made, though the dark duvet was a little crumpled as if someone had sat on it recently. The little white night stand and it’s collection of odds and ends had been picked up off the floor at some point and put back in order. There were two photos on the stand, one a picture of a much younger Adam sitting with his mom. His gapped tooth grin made Dean smile, and me made a note to take that picture with them when they left. The other picture made him grimace. It was a close up of John, smiling happily at whoever was photographing him. This picture looked newer, probably taken last year. He felt something dark and bitter twist in his gut as he looked at the picture and had to put it down quickly. There was just something wrong seeing hid dad smiling like that.

"So the cops found no sign of forced entry?" Dean asked as he walked over to window.

"Yeah." Adam answered, his voice cracking as he hovering at the door, "Mr. Abiranti said he saw her come home that morning, but she was gone when I got home from school. It's like she just vanished."

Dean hummed softly to himself, as he inspected the window frame. There were no traces of sulfur or ectoplasm, he couldn't feel any cold spots or smell anything strange, and nothing looked broken or disturbed. John had come here years ago on a case, but so far this looked like regular old human crazy, not something supernatural. Dean walked back towards the door inspecting the perimeter. As he rounded the bed, he saw the marks on the floor.

From the door they weren't really noticeable, but from this angle they showed stark white against the dark wood of the floor. They looked like claw marks but, to Dean’s trained eye, they weren't deep enough to be made by any creature or animal he knew of. They looked human. Dean’s stomach dropped as he followed the marks straight under the bed.

"Here, help me move this," Dean said. Each of them grabbing one side of the footboard, they dragged the heavy wrought iron bed frame to the side. Its heavy weight left more gouge marks in the floor, but, at this point, Dean didn't think Adam or his mom would care. Underneath they found a large old fashioned air vent with some kind of filigree design on it. The claw marks ended there. 

"Son of a bitch," Dean exhaled. He hated this part of the job. Looking over at Adam's pale face and wide eyes he came to a decision. 

"Come on kid," he said, "let’s go." He grabbed Adam by the shoulder and led him out of the room. The kid’s eyes seemed glued to those marks as Dean lead him out of the room and to the stairs. Dean gently urged the kid downstairs, then out the front door to the car. There he turned Adam around to face him, placing both hands on his shoulders.

"You stay here," Dean said staring intensely in his eyes, his voice stern, "I mean it kid, do not go in until I tell you." He waited for the kid to nod before releasing him. Dean looked at Adam in sympathy. His stoic mask was gone, leaving behind a scared little boy who looked at Dean with silently pleading eyes. Digging into his pocket, Dean pulled out his cell phone. "Take this. If anything happens, you run. Get somewhere safe. Then you call Sheriff Barton. Then call Dad. Both numbers are on speed dial." Adam took the phone with shaking hands and shoved it in his pants pocket. Dean turned to go back in the house but stopped when the kid grabbed his arm.

"Do you think she might still be alive?" Adam asked, his voice trembling. Dean felt gutted, the truth stuck in his throat. He doubted whoever had made those marks was still alive. Instead of speaking, Dean pulled the kid onto a quick hug. Releasing him, Dean headed into the house without a word. What could he say? 

Upstairs he headed to the guest room to grab his bag of weapons. Pulling out his gun and loading it, he grabbed a spare clip and headed for the room. The old air vent was heavy and covered in dust bunnies, but Dean managed to pry it up and move it out of the way. Taking a deep breath, Dean lowered himself into the hole. 

The space was uncomfortably tight, the shiny metal walls of the air duct clanged loudly as he moved. He hoped whatever was down here was gone, or deaf, because he definitely didn't have the element of surprise. It had been a pleasantly warm spring this year and Dean figured Adam and his mom hadn’t used the heating system in a few days. If they had, they probably would have noticed the unpleasant fetid smell coming from down here. The tunnel he was in continued straight before make a sharp right turn. Gun held before him, Dean cautiously moved forward, creeping slowly around the corner. There was blood everywhere. It looked like a scene from some cheap horror movie, blood and chunks of bone in one long smear through the tunnel heading towards the edge where the tunnel dropped off towards the basement. A few chunks of hair were matted into the filth, the few parts that weren‘t covered in filth were a dirty blonde. Dean paused a moment to take in the scene, his nose pushed into the crook of his elbow to block the smell of decay. The smell was unpleasant, but not too strong. The body was most likely somewhere else, or they would have noticed it before now. Whatever had been killed here was long gone, and so was the killer.

"Damn it," Dean said softly, before backing out of the tunnel.

ooooooooooooooooooo

Once out of the tunnel, Dean sat on the displaced bed and held his head, gun still clenched in one hand as he tried to think. His heart ached for Adam, and he longed, yet again for his father to be here, to tell him what to do, but, as usual, he was on his own. With the ease of long practice, he shut down his emotions and tried to focus. Maybe someday John would be there when he needed him, but for now he would just have to get by on his own. And the first thing they had to do was get out of here.

Standing quickly, Dean made his way to Adam’s room. Opening the closet he found the backpack Adam had been clutching so tightly at the sheriff’s office, hanging neatly on a hook attached to the door. Swiping it up he rifled through the kid’s dresser grabbing enough clothes for few days and shoving them haphazardly into the bag. He made his way to the guest room next and grabbed his own gear before heading out the door.

Adam stood by the car where Dean had left him, arm’s wrapped protectively around himself. When he caught site of Dean he stepped forward.

"What did you find?" He demanded his voice forceful, despite the way it wavered on the edge of tears. Dean didn't know what to say. He just stared at the kid helplessly, knowing everything he couldn't say was written on his face. Adam face seemed to crumple in on itself as his he turned away. He cried silently, one hand over face as his shoulder’s shook, his other arm clenched tightly around his chest. He looked like he was trying to physically hold himself together and it broke Dean’s heart to watch. Dean dropped their gear in the driveway and pulled to kid to him, holding him tightly until the tears passed.

"I'll get what ever son of a bitch did this Adam," Dean said promised softly when he finally released him. He watched as the kid wiped his face clean on his sleeve, trying to put that impassive mask back in place. "I promise."

Adam met his eyes. His face was calm, the traces of tears the only sign of his outburst, but his eye’s told Dean a different story. Dean could tell he was crushed under the weight of loss, it was a feeling Dean was familiar with, and it made him want to reach out again, take that burden from his new little brother who was so similar and so different from his old one. Perhaps sensing Dean‘s intent, Adam squared his shoulders before moving away. He stood quietly by the passenger side and waited for Dean to get in.

On the way into town, Dean had passed a motel that was just the kind of place him and his dad would frequent. Shabby and cheap; the kind of place that wouldn't ask too many questions. Dean drove them there, retrieving his cell from Adam and calling John. Not wanting to upset the kid more then necessary, he left it brief.

"Dad, I found a case. I could really use you on this one." It felt inadequate to Dean, and probably to Adam if the look the kid shot his way was any indication, but there was just too much to put in message. 

When they reached the motel, Dean got them a room and sent the kid in with their gear. He had one more call to make.

"Barton," came the clipped tone of the Sheriff. Dean hadn't wanted to involve the cops, but someone needed to officially identify and clean up the mess at Adam’s house. He just hoped he could stay out of any official reports.

"Hey, this is Dean, uh Winchester, Adam’s brother. Listen I think you need to get to Adam’s house, I found something. I think I found Adam’s mom."

"Wait you found Kate?" Dean winced; he hadn't even remembered her name. "Is she there? Put her on," Barton demanded. Dean sighed.

Dean explained what he had found in the air ducts in Kate's room. The sheriff remained silent when Dean finished, only the sound of his breathing coming through the speaker let Dean know the line hadn‘t dropped. Finally, he asked where they were. Dean was reluctant to give him a location, but relented when the sheriff threatened to send a deputy out to find them. Dean rolled his eyes when Barton told them to stay put and not to go back until the police where gone. Like Dean needed to be told that.

"I'll try to keep you out of the investigation as much as I can," The Sheriff said. 

"Thanks Sheriff, I really appreciate it." Dean sighed in relief. "One more thing," Dean said before the other man could hang up, "When my dad came through here before, what was he hunting?"

"Why, you think this is related? Cause, we took care of that." 

"Just humor me." Dean said. It was just a hunch, but Dean’s hunches hadn’t led him astray so far. And he didn't believe in coincidence.

"I believe your dad called it a ghoul."

"Thanks, Sheriff." Dean said before hanging up. Dean sighed in frustration. Ghouls were bottom feeders, eating the corpses of the dead and taking their shape, they didn't attack to living. Something didn't add up. 

Spotting a convenience store across the street, Dean headed towards it. Inside, he bought a couple of doughnuts, an extra large coffee for himself and chocolate milk for the kid. He bought four large containers of salt as well, since he was out, not that it would do much good against ghouls, if that's what this was. He also picked up a copy of the local paper. Sammy had taken the beat up old laptop with him when he left for Stanford and Dean had never gotten around to replacing it. He usually just went to the library. But, until he had access to a computer, he would have to do this old school.

The coffee was bitter and burnt tasting, but Dean had finished half of it before he returned to the motel. He opened their room to find Adam laid out on one of the beds, staring vacantly at the ceiling. Dean set his things down on the small table beside the entrance before shutting the door. 

"I got grub," He said. Digging into the bag, he to pull out his doughnut, shoving it in his mouth so his hands would be free. He set Adam’s items on the dresser where he could reach them if he wanted. Sitting on the empty bed, he finished the sticky sweet treat in two bites, and then sipped at the rest of his coffee as he pored over the paper.

It was a typical small town paper, mostly filled with adverts for local shops, wedding announcements, obits, and up upcoming festivals. Only one thing caught his eye, a small article about some vandalism at a local cemetery. The police suspected teenagers, but didn't have any leads. When you added disturbed graves to ghouls, it looked like Dean’s instincts were right. Whatever John had hunted here before was back, or it had friends. Going after Kate Milligan couldn't be a coincidence. This thing was targeting people close to John. That meant it would be after Adam next.

Dean looked over at the kid, a sinking feeling in his gut. He had to have moved at same point, because his doughnut was half eaten and the milk was mostly gone, but now he was back to staring up at the ceiling. Dean’s stomach chose that moment to remind him that those eggs had been a long time ago, and one doughnut would not cut it. The noise was loud enough to draw Adam’s attention.

"You hungry, kid?" Dean asked. Adam just shrugged in reply. Dean felt strangely helpless in the face of the kid’s apathy. He knew how to hunt monsters, not council grieving children. Even Sammy had rarely been sad, he had been more prone to fits of anger. Dean understood anger, and had, out of necessity, become an expert in talking people down. Dean’s only experience with grief was with his own, and he could barely handle that. But even if Dean didn't know much about grief, he did know one thing: Pie made everything better

 

"Alright you stay here," Dean said, surveying to room critically. It was small and easily defensible, with only two entry points, the door and one grimy window. There was a bathroom with a lock at the back, but the door was flimsy and wouldn’t hold back an attacker for long. Dean grabbed one of the salt containers and opened it. He could feel Adam’s eyes on him as he poured thick lines of salt in front of the window and door. Leaving the container by the door, Dean grabbed his bags and rummaging through them. He pulled out a small silver plated switch blade and one of the spare cell phones and gave them to Adam. It had been Sammy’s first knife, when he was smaller and needed something easier to conceal on school grounds. Dean showed Adam how open it without stabbing himself, then left it and the phone next to the half finished doughnut. Gathering his coat and wallet, Dean headed to the door.

"If anything happens, call me,” Dean said, hovering in the doorway. Adam said nothing, just went back to staring at the ceiling. Unable to think of anything reassuring to say, Dean left. 

Dean pulled out in the Toyota and turned towards the center of town. The motel sat on the main road that ran through town. Like every small town in America, the main street was lined with shops and restaurants and it wasn‘t long before he spotted a dinner and pulled in. Walking up to the counter, he gave the waitress his most charming smile and ordered two bacon cheese burgers with the works and two slices of apple pie to go. He hoped the kid wasn't a vegetarian or anything.

Back at the motel, Adam hadn't moved. Clearing the table by the door, Dean moved it between the two beds and set their food out. It was just big enough to hold the two take out containers, if a bit tall. It was cramped and far from homey but it was easier than trying to eat in bed.

"Come on kiddo, eat up" Dean said waiting until Adam dragged himself upright before digging in. Adam was still picking at his half eaten food when Dean shoved his last ketchup drenched fry into his mouth. Dean wiped his mouth to hide his smirk; the only thing the kid had finished was the pie. 

"You do like burgers, right?" Dean asked when the kid stopped picking at his food and pushed it away. Adam just shrugged, unhelpfully. Dean bit his tongue against what he wanted to say. Like his father, Dean had little patience with wallowing in self pity. He knew how the kid felt, intimately, but this apathy was getting on Dean‘s nerves. They both needed something to take their minds off of recent events. Inspiration struck as Dean cleared away the remains of dinner.

"You ever handled a gun before?" Dean asked. That got Adam’s attention, Dean was pleased to note. The kid’s eyes widened as he shook his head.

"Then it's time you learned." Dean smirked as he brought his weapons bag out and set it on his bed before pulling out his arsenal. There wasn't much, a couple of hand guns, his sawed off, and a few knives. He set the guns on his bed, and then laid the cleaning supplies out neatly on the little table where they had eaten. He looked at Adam expectantly when he finished.

“The first thing you need to know is, always treat a gun as if it's loaded." Dean started, picking up the shot gun first. He then proceeded to teach Adam everything their dad had ever taught him about basic gun maintenance. He showed Adam how to work the safety, how to load and unload the shells. He broke the gun apart, laying the pieces out neatly and telling him what each part was and what it did, had Adam help him properly clean and check each part then put it back together. He had Adam take apart each gun until he was able break apart and put together each gun unassisted. Then he had him do it faster.

As they worked their way through each gun, Dean talked. He talked about the corrosive effects of the salt rounds, how the inspiration for them had come to him on a hunt, the proper lead to silver ratio to keep the bullets from being too light to fly straight, how to keep a keen edge on a silver plated blade without marring the finish. After a while Adam starting asking questions, about hunting and John and finally about Dean himself. When prompted, the kid even answered questions about himself. He learned Adam’s favorite color, his favorite subject in school, even his favorite baseball team.

They spent hours getting to know each other this way. In a way, it reminded Dean of being a kid, with Dad drilling him and Sammy this way, Dad glowering and yelling when they fumbled, having them go faster and faster, waking them at odd hours to fumble half asleep until they could do this task in the car, in the dark, in their sleep, anywhere they might find themselves. But, with Adam it was different. With Dad everything was serious, life or death, there was no idle conversation about sports or classic cars; Dad rarely shared anything about himself. And Dad never had much patience with them. Dean was surprised at his own patience when Adam made a mistake. Not that Dean needed much. Adam was a clever kid, only needing help a few times, before he was able to break down, clean, and reassemble each gun and properly sharpen every knife Dean had laid out. And, like Dean, he seemed to enjoy taking things apart and putting them back together. Dean thought idly, that the kid might also like learning to work on the Impala if they got the chance. It was a pleasant thought.

It was nearly eleven by the time they wound down, the conversation ending naturally as they put the last gun together before packing everything away. Dean was about to suggest trying out the rooms ancient TV when the kid yawned.

"Alright kid, I think we're good here for now. It's time to hit the hay." Dean said, riffling through his duffle for something to sleep in. Adam nodded, grabbing his pack and heading for the bathroom. Dean got his own gear out, checked the salt lines and headed into the bathroom as soon as Adam emerged. When he came back out, Adam was under the covers his back to Dean. Dean made himself comfortable, then turned out the light.

The room was mostly dark, only the faint orange glow of a far away street light shining through the flimsy curtains, throwing stark shadows on the walls. It was surprisingly quiet in the room. They were far enough away from the road and other visitors that only the sounds of their breathing filled up the silence. Dean had almost drifted off to sleep when he heard a quite rustling and a deep sigh from the other bed.

"Dean?" Adam whispered.

"Yeah?" Dean answered, his rough whisper seemed too loud in the dark stillness that surrounded them. After a long pause, Adam responded.

"Do you think my mom's still alive?" The waver in his voice put an ache in Dean’s chest. The kid was going to kill him if he kept on breaking his heart like this. Dean wanted to lie to the kid, tell him his mom would be fine, that Dad would show up and everything would be better, but he couldn't do it. He had seen how Dad’s lies and evasions had affected Sammy. He had seen how his own lies, telling Sam that Dad was right, even when Dean didn't believe it, had eventually driving him away. Stealing himself, Dean whispered the truth into the dark.

"No, Adam, I'm sorry. I don't."

There was no sobbing or wailing like Dean had expected, in fact there was no sound at all. Dean looked across the room and sat up in concern. In the dim glow of the street light Dean could just barely make out Adam‘s shape under the covers. He had his face pressed so tightly into his pillow it was amazing he could breath and his whole body was tensed and vibrating with the effort of holding everything in. Despite himself, Dean crossed the space between the two beds and tried to comfort the kid.

"Hey, shh, it alright, I got ya," Dean babbled inanely, trying to pull the kid into a hug. It was awkward from this angle, and Dean hoped the kid didn't think he was a creeper for jumping into his bed like this. Something he did must have been right, because that tightly held tension that held the kid so stiff suddenly released, allowing the kid to collapse against Dean. He cried quietly into his pillow while Dean held him. He whispered comforting words until they ran out, then he resorted to humming Metallica songs under his breath. Finally, when the kid had cried himself into a fitful sleep, Dean returned to his own bed. 

oooooooooooooooooo

Dean slept restlessly, his rest interrupted by dreams. He dreamed of his mom and fire, old dreams he hadn't had in years. He dreamed of the day Sammy left, new dreams that he had dreamed all too often in the last year. When he finally awoke, it was much later then he usually slept and he felt groggy and disoriented as he woke. Adam was already up and dressed, his bed neatly made. He sat cross legged on the thread bare cover, Dean’s two hand guns in front of him as he practiced taking then apart and putting then back together. He was getting faster, Dean noted as he watched, blinking the sleep lazily from his eyes. The kid’s face was impassive as he worked, his stoic mask firmly in place. The kid’s eyes were still a bit red from last night and underneath they were starting to get a faint bluish tint like a new bruise, but on the surface he was calm. As he took apart the gun in his hands, Dean thought whimsically that he looked like some kind of killer Zen monk. Dean figured it was better then staring listlessly at the ceiling, at any rate. Only when the kid had laid down the gun, did Dean speak.

"Morning," he said, sitting up and stretching.

"Morning" Adam replied, picking up the guns and standing up to put them back in Dean's bag. Dean grabbed his clothes and made his way into the bathroom where he relieved himself then brushed his teeth. 

"You hungry kid?" Dean yelled, spitting white foam into the sink and splattering some on the mirror.

"I could eat," he heard faintly. That was definitely an improvement from yesterday. Dean changed quickly, his stomach growling.

"I know a good place," Adam said, leaning over to tie his shoes as Dean entered. 

"Sounds good to me," Dean replied, grabbing his boots and tugging them on. He had just finishing tying his own laces when he heard the sound: a metallic clicking noise as someone tried the turn the door handle. A cold shiver ran down his spine and his heart started racing in suspense. Dean stood up suddenly digging a gun out of his bag. At Adam’s startled look, he held a finger up to his mouth before the kid could speak. Dean met Adam’s eyes then jerked his head twice behind him. Adam nodded, his eyes widening slightly as went to stand behind Dean. Relieved, Dean cautiously made his way to the door. He could hear a faint scraping sound now, as someone tried to pick the lock. The locks in this place were old and worn and it took no time for the intruder to break in. Dean moved off to the side where the open door would hide him from the intruder’s sight. He waited patiently, gun at the ready, for the tell tale click of the lock opening. The door opened slowly and a tall broad shouldered man stepped inside. Once he was fully in, Dean kicked the door shut and pointed the gun at his back.

"Dean," A gruff voice barked.

"Dad?" Dean asked, quickly pointing the gun at the floor. "What the hell?"

ooooooooooooooooooooooooo

The reunion between Adam and their dad was more awkward then Dean had expected it would be. He had forgotten that the two had only known each other for a week almost a year ago. Dad wasn’t exactly great at keeping in touch with the son’s he knew about. 

"I'm sorry son," Dad had whispered to Adam as Dean watched, pulling the kid into a tense hug. Adam just nodded, shifting uncomfortably away from John to stand next to Dean.

As he watched the two together, Dean could feel something hot boiling just under his skin. His face felt tight and flushed and his hands kept clenching and unclenching at his sides. Trying to hold it down, Dean grabbed his coat and headed for the door.

"We were just going out. You coming with?" Dean asked, opening the door and stepping outside without waiting for an answer. He stopped just outside the door, letting the cool early morning air chill his heated face. Breathing deeply he pushed his sudden rage down for now. John soon followed, brushing past him and heading for the Impala. Adam stepped out last, shutting the motel door to stand by Dean waiting for him to move. Putting his hand on the kid’s shoulder, Dean pushed him towards the car.

"Come on kid, lead the way."

The drive to the diner was silent, as Dean fumed in the passenger seat. He could feel his dad’s furtive looks as they drove, but said nothing. He could probably guess what Dean was angry about and wasn’t interested in talking about it anymore then Dean was. Adam sat quietly in the back seat, gazing impassively out the window. Dean felt sorry for the kid. He knew what it was like to sit on the side lines as two people let everything unsaid between them simmer. He had sat there often enough with Sam and Dad. Dean just hoped the kid was elsewhere when things finally erupted.

When they entered the diner, an elderly woman smiled brightly at Adam before showing them a table. Adam smiled back politely but said nothing. They were seated at a booth in the far corner, at Dad’s insistence, Dean and Adam facing the wall, while John sat facing the door. 

“How‘re you doing Adam?” The woman asked kindly when they were seated. The sympathy in her voice grated on Dean’s nerves and he felt Adam tense beside him. 

"Fine," Adam mumbled, looking intently at the table top. 

"You want the usual honey?" She asked him. Dad cut in before Adam could answer.

"Yes. Also, two house specials, and two cups of coffee." John said brusquely. Despite his tone, the waitress smiled kindly at Adam and went off to place their order.

"Tell me what happened," John demanded as soon as she was gone. Dean and Adam looked at each other a moment before Dean nodded at Adam, letting the kid tell his story. Adam keep his head down as he talked, eyes fixed on the table as he fiddled with his napkin. He told the story quickly, his voice quite but steady until he came the part about finding the scratches on the floor of his mother’s room. Dean touched the kids back comfortingly when his voice cracked, hoping their dad couldn’t see. He had always hated it when Dean coddled Sammy. Adam’s voice trailed off and he looked down at the table blankly. Not waiting for Adam to collect himself, John looked expectantly at Dean, waiting for him to pick up where Adam had trailed off. Luckily the waitress arrived with their food. When she had left John looked again at Dean in anticipation.

"What did you find?" he demanded. Dean looked anxiously at Adam before shaking his head.

"Not now, Dad," He said, not wanting to get into details in front of Adam. 

"Dean," John growled, the command clear in his voice.

"No Dad, now is not the time," Dean hissed back, his heart thumping frantically in his chest. He had never talked back to his dad like this before. "In fact let’s talk about something else. How about that fact that I have another brother. A brother you knew about for over a year and didn't tell me." He stopped himself before he said something he would regret, his whole body tensed in fear. He didn’t know what had come over him, talking back to his father like that. Adam was watching Dean, eye’s wide.

"Watch your tone, Dean" Dad snapped, then looked around suspiciously. The dinner was mostly empty and no one seemed to have notice their little domestic drama. John suddenly picked up his bundle of silverware and opened it. "We'll talk about this later," he conceded, and began to eat.

They ate their breakfast in silence. Dean’s stomach churned in anger, but he forced himself to eat, shoving bits of pancake and sausage in his mouth methodically. John couldn’t stand picky eaters any more than Dean could. Adam just picked at his food, until John glared at him sharply. When he had finished, John sat back and drank his coffee watching them both as they tried to choke down their meal. Finally, unable to finish, they both sat quietly, moving the reams of their food around their plates as they waited for John’s permission to leave. Dean wished he could look as calm as Adam did. He knew he was pouting; he probably looked like a whiney child, if the thunderous look his dad gave him was any indication. Finishing his coffee in one long drink, John finally stood up. Dean sighed in relief as his dad pulled out his wallet and dropped down some money.

"Let’s head out," John said, heading for the door, not waiting for them to follow. Adam looked at Dean anxiously.

"Are you alright?" Adam asked quietly. Dean sighed deeply rubbing his eyes. He didn't know if he was alright, but he nodded anyway. He couldn’t understand how Sammy could do this all the time, it was exhausting being this angry. Pushing everything down, Dean set his fork down. There wasn't time for this teen angst crap, they had to take care of Adam first.

"Yeah, I'm fine kid," Dean said, giving the kid a weary smile, before nudging him out of the booth. Adam stood up reluctantly and followed Dean outside.

The drive back to the motel was tense. Dean knew John wanted to yell at him, demand answers, but was holding back from doing it in front of Adam. Dean was silently grateful. He knew from last night that Adam had only met up with John that one time, and had talked to him on the phone a few times since. If those pictures were anything to go by, they had left a good impression in the kid. Dean didn't want to destroy their relationship now by throwing a hissy fit and bringing up things that were better left unsaid. Dad’s reaction would probably scar the kid for life.

Once they reached the motel, John ordered Adam to go inside. The kid looked at Dean, his brow furrowed with worry. He seemed reluctant to leave.

"Gone on,” Dean said, gently pushing Adam towards the door. “Practice some more with the guns." At John’s sharp look he shrugged. The kid had gotten enough practice last night not to shoot himself if left alone, and it's not like there was anything else to do. 

"You got him cleaning the guns?" Dad asked. His expression neutral. Dean crossed his arms defensively

"Kid was a mess last night. I thought it would take his mind off things." Dean said, expecting a fight. Instead Dad just nodded thoughtfully.

"That’s good thinking, son," he said, sounding impressed. Dean let out a tense huff. John was always doing shit like this, being reasonable when you expected him to be pissed, being pissed when he should have seen reason. It was half the reason he and Sam had fought so much.

"Why didn't you tell me, Dad?" Dean asked, surprising himself with the bluntness of the question.

"I was trying to protect him, keep him way from this life. After Sam..." John trailed off, unable to find the words to explain the tangled twisted mess between him and Sam. Dean nodded. He wasn't surprised at his father’s reasoning, he just wasn't buying it.

"So what, are you ashamed of me?" Dean asked. His father opened his mouth, probably to object, but Dean plowed on. "I get wanting to protect the kid, and I agree, but he didn't know a thing about me or Sammy. So what was it, huh? Are you ashamed of us? Did you think I was going to come up here and ruin this little apple pie weekend family you had going up here? Do you have any other little families I should know about?" Dean voice had risen by the end, as he pushed into his father space, fighting the urge to do something drastic like hit him.

"Dean," His father snapped in warning, but something inside Dean had torn open and he couldn’t stem the tide of wrath now.

"You know what? I don't care if you are ashamed of me. You still should of told me." Dean yelled, grabbing Dad’s coat in anger and giving him a shake. "If I had known, maybe I...." His voice cracked shamefully at all the maybes that ran through him. Maybe he could have watched over him from a distance, maybe he could have been there to save Adam’s mom, then maybe Dad could of had that apple pie weekend life, maybe he could of smiled like he was happy, even if it was fake, even if it was without Dean, instead of having to drag another boy with a dead mother along with them. 

"Damn it, Dean," his father sighed dragging him into a rough embrace. Dean hadn't even realized he was crying until he felt his father’s arms around him, then it seemed like he couldn't stop. All the pent up fear and rage he had been holding back since that first phone call seemed to wash out of him as his dad just held him tight. Finally, embarrassed, Dean pulled back and coughed, whipping his nose on his sleeve. He stood there, arms crossed tightly around his chest, eyes downcast, as he waited for his father to tear him a new one.

"Dean," his father said, his voice rough as he gripped Dean‘s shoulders tightly, "I could never be ashamed of you son. I hope you know that." Dean just shrugged, feeling some of his tension ease as his father’s words. "And you're right.” Dean looked at his father surprised, but the older man refused to meet his eyes. “I should of told you right away. I was trying to protect Adam, but I was also afraid. Afraid of what you would think of me.” John smiled ruefully, looking at some point behind Dean’s ear. “I just didn't want to disappoint you again." Dean looked up at his father stunned. When his dad finally looked at him, his eyes were shining with unshed tears. Dean stepped forward instinctively, wanted to ease his Dad‘s sorrow.

"Do you think you can forgive me son?" Dad asked softly.

"Yes sir," Dean said timidly, afraid he might start crying again. He didn’t know if it was true, but he couldn’t stand to see that broken look on his Dad’s face. His dad pulled him into a another quick embrace, pounding his back twice before releasing him

"I'm sorry for yelling, sir," Dean added, looking at the ground, embarrassed at his lack of control. His dad gave a sharp snort of amusement.

"I might have deserved it." He replied. Dean looked up in surprise, but any amusement was gone from his dad‘s face. "Now tell me what you've found."

ooooooooooooooooooooo

Dean explained everything he saw in the air ducts at Adam’s house. John had just nodded and told him he had done the right thing, keeping that from Adam. Dean had also explained his theory about how the ghoul he had hunted here fourteen years ago, or something that knew the creature, was out for revenge now. John had just hummed giving him a thoughtful look.

"Let’s get inside," was all he said, heading for the motel.  
Once inside John pulled out his cell and started dialing. Dean headed to Adam. The kid had been sitting on his bed when they entered, his back to the door, but he stood up as Dean approached. He stepped forward and grabbed Dean’s arm gently, the furrow between his brows deepening as he scanned Dean‘s face.

"Are you alright?" He asked Dean softly. The kid’s eyes looked red, but his face was otherwise impassive. He had heard some of what had transpired, Dean could tell by the way his eyes darted nervously towards their father before settling on Dean. Dean felt his cheeks redden and cursed thin hotel walls. He smiled ruefully and nodded.

"Yeah, I'm good." He said, then huffed out a startled breath as the kid lunged forward and hugged him tightly around the middle. It only lasted a second before he was released, then the kid sat back on the bed, leaning forward with his hands clasped tightly between his knees, as he watched both men. Dean couldn't keep the small smile off his face as he sat down next to Adam and waited for their father to finish.

"Thank you," John said, before ending the call, his brows pulled together in thought. He looked at Dean as he stepped closer to the bed. "I think your theory might be right, son. That was the sheriff’s office," he said sounding grim. "The sheriff left last night and never made it home. His truck is still at the office." 

Dean looked carefully at Adam then back at his dad. Someone would need to stay.

"Why don't you go check it out," Dean offered. "Maybe I'll take Adam out and teach him to shoot." John looked between Adam and Dean his expression inscrutable. Dean would bet he hadn't missed Adam’s red eyes, or the quick hug between his sons, their father was pretty sharp. But whatever his thoughts, he kept them to himself like always. Nodding at Dean, John headed to the door.

"Watch out for your brother," John said, walking out without waiting for a reply. Dean was reasonably sure the familiar parting was meant for him, but Adam nodded at the closed door as if John had meant it for him. Dean snorted in amusement, reaching forward to swat the kid on the side of the head.

"You think you're going to watch out for me?" Dean asked, smirking as Adam frowned at him, rubbing his sore head.

"Somebody's got to." He piped up, giving Dean his own smirk, "Or you'd stay up all night, and have bacon and pie for every meal."

Falling back to sprawl on the bed, Dean laughed.

oooooooooooooooo

Dean fired three times in quick succession, his shots landing in a tight cluster inside the spray painted circle. They weren't the first to use this place for illicit activities, judging by the amount of old beer bottles that littered the ground, and the old no trespassing sign with the spray painted bulls eye had been here when they arrived. Adam had found the place, admitting he and his friends used to come here to light fire crackers and bottle rockets in the summer. It had been within walking distance of the motel, and far enough away from anything else so as not to attract any unwanted attention.

"Whoa," Adam said, looking at Dean impressed. Dean blew imaginary smoke off the gun and gave Adam a cocky grin. Adam just rolled his eyes at Dean's antics.

"It's easy," Dean said, handing the gun to Adam and helping him move into position. "Now, remember what I told you. Three shots."

Adam took a deep breath and aimed. Leaves kicked up in the air as the bullets tore threw the old sign. The shots landed, two slightly to the left of Dean's cluster, and one slightly farther at the edge of the inner ring. Dean laughed and clapped the kid on the back.

"Great job," Dean said, watching a faint blush spread across the boy’s face. Adam shrugged self consciously.

"Beginners luck," Adam said modestly.

"Nah, you’re a natural kid," Dean said, ruffling his hair.

"Good shot, son," John said from behind them. They both turned at the sound of his voice.

"I know right?" Dean said clapping Adam on the shoulder. "I taught him everything he knows." Adam rolled his eyes at Dean before turning back to their dad.

John must have driven up when Dean was shooting, because he hadn't even heard the car. The three of them quickly piled in and headed back to the motel. Adam and John were quiet, so Dean filled the silence with idle chatter, bragging about Adam. 

"Next time we'll take the shot gun out. Let you get a feel for it." Dean said, turning around to look at Adam as they pulled up to the motel. Adam didn't say anything, but the small pleased smile he couldn't quiet suppresses told Dean volumes. The kid might play at being all Zen, but Dean was starting to see through him. Once inside Adam started pulling out the cleaning gear, when John’s voice stopped him.

"Leave it," John said, his face solemn.

"I take it Sheriff Barton didn't decide to walk home," Dean said. He leaned casually against a wall and watched his father carefully.

"No," John said dryly, "I didn't get a chance to interview many people, too many recognized me from last night." At Dean's look of confusion he clarified. "That's how I found you."

"Shit," Dean said. He knew telling anyone where they were was a bad idea. Dad ignored his outburst.

"His secretary said he headed home for the night at his usual time. No one heard or saw anything, but it looks like something got him. His truck had scratches on the door, down near the bottom and he was parked over a man hole cover." Dean winced looked over at Adam. The kid was somber and pale but looked steady. He had gravitated closer to Dean as Dad talked so Dean reached out and pulled the kid to his side, giving his shoulder a squeeze.

"Now what?" Dean asked. John looked between Dean and Adam, a pained look on his face. Dean knew he wouldn't like what he was coming next.

"We need to draw it out." John said, avoiding Dean’s eyes.

"Draw it out how?" Dean asked, the suspicion evident in his voice.

"It's after the people who knew me and there's only one left. The three of us will go back to Adam’s house and wait for it to come." John said, his tone a command inviting no argument. Dean ignored it.

"You want to use the kid as bait?" Dean growled, incredulous. "If this thing wants to get to you, wouldn't it be safer for us to go back there alone?" Dean asked.

"I doubt it knows I'm here. This will be faster and give us the element of surprise," Dad answered.

"But the kid isn't trained, he'll be in danger." Dean protested.

"Don't I get a say in this?" Adam asked, interrupting them.

"No," they yelled simultaneously.

"Dad, we don't even know what this is," Dean continued as if they hadn't been interrupted.

"I'll do it," Adam said, raising his voice to be heard over Dean’s yelling.

"You keep out if this," Dean commanded, turning on Adam.

"Enough," John snapped, silencing them both. "Dean I've made up my mind, now get your gear. We're going." Dean swallowed hard, forcing down all he wanted to say. It sat in a hard churning knot in his stomach. He thought he might puke.

"Yes sir," he said. John walked out to the car, leaving Adam and Dean to gather their gear. Dean was shoving the last of his clothes in the duffel when Adam finally spoke.

"Are you mad at me?" Adam asked timidly, zipping up his back pack, his shoulders hunched. Dean sighed deeply and walked over to him to pull him into a quick hug.

"Nah kid, I'm just worried." Dean said quietly into Adam’s hair, before releasing him. He tried to give the kid a reassuring smile, but gave it up ruffling the kid’s hair instead. "I'll just be glad when this is all over." 

oooooooooooooooooooo

When they reached Adam’s house they set up in the kitchen. Both attacks had occurred in the evening, so they wanted to use the remaining daylight to do some research. They all sat at the kitchen table, books scattered in front of them. Dad was going back through his journal while Dean and Adam where leafing through one of the large occult texts they kept in the car. Dean was going through every creature, explaining to Adam why it could or could not be what they were dealing with and making a list of possible suspects. The list was depressingly long. With every creature, Adam wanted to know if they had actually seen such a thing, so Dean started telling him some of their tamer hunting stories.

"So we nuked it with a home made flame thrower." Dean said.

"Whoa," Adam said and Dean had to smile at the look of awe on his face. Dean leaned in close to the kid.

"I'll show you how to make one sometime," Dean whispered conspiratorially, making Adam smile.

"That's some job you got." Adam said thoughtfully, looking at a picture of a monster with something exploding out of its chest.

"Being a hunter isn't a job Adam, it's a way of life." John said suddenly, his voice somber. When Adam looked at him, he continued. "You've got friend’? Sports? Maybe a girl you like?" he asked.

"I've got scouts," the kid answered softly, ducking his head and blushing.

"If you're really going to do this, you can't have those kinds of connections. Ever. They're weaknesses. You'll just put those people in danger, get them killed. That's the price we pay son. You cut them out and you don't look back. There's only one thing you can count on," he paused then nodded at Dean, "And that's family."

Dean felt himself go numb as Dad talked. He knew this speech, had heard Dad give it to Sam, right before he left for good. Dean stood up abruptly.

"Dad, can I talk to you for a minute?" Dean said, heading towards the door without waiting for a response. Once he reached the door he turned around and waited for his dad.

"Dad, why did you say that stuff to him? He's just a kid." Dean demanded trying to keep his voice down. He sounded angry to his own ears, maybe he was angry, but mostly he was terrified. He didn't even know why, but hearing Dad give that speech to Adam filled Dean with dread. John must have sensed something was off, because he just looked confused at Dean's question.

"Because it's the truth son." John said, watching Dean closely. But it's not the truth, Dean wanted to scream. You protect the people you love by keeping them close, not driving them away. How can you protect someone when they're in California and you're not? "It's the same thing I told Sam, and you."

"Sam hated you for saying that stuff." Dean blurted, hating how his Dad winced, but unable to stop himself.

"Dean, what…”

"There has to be another way," Dean interrupted. He wasn't even sure if he meant the hunt, or this life, or even just that stupid speech. He just knew everything felt wrong all of the sudden. Following his instincts, he looked his dad in the eye. "I'm going out."

"For what?" John demanded.

"To do my job, that's what. I'm going to find this thing and kill it before it finds Adam." John just looked at him thoughtfully before digging into his pocket.

"Then take the car," John said tossing him the keys. Dean looked at his dad surprised, then nodded his thanks. Gathering his coat and gun, Dean left.

ooooooooooooooooooo

Dean drove aimlessly down the main road, letting the smooth rumble of the Impala’s engine sooth his nerves, trying to figure out what he should do next. He just needed to treat this like any other case. He took a deep breath and went over what they knew. Kate Milligan had disappeared three days ago. The sheriff had disappeared last night. The only other unusual thing that had happened in this town had been a string of unsolved grave robberies. It was also the only thing they hadn't had a chance to fully investigate, so Dean decided to start there.

According to the paper, the Millsap family crypt had been vandalized three times in the last month. Unfortunately the paper hadn't given any details on just what the vandals had done. Pulling up to the crypt, Dean parked the Impala. Pulling out his shot gun, a flash light and a crow bar out of the trunk he set about breaking into the crypt.

Prying open the door, he could see the damage that had been done. Three of the graves had been opened, but whatever had been taken or disturbed had already been cleaned up. Dean looked around with the flash light, trying to find any other signs of disturbance. On the first pass, Dean almost missed it. Set into the crypt wall, one of the stones had been worked loose. The moss and grout around the stone had been cleared off, and there were scrap marks through the dirt on the floor as if someone had moved the stone and replaced it recently. The stone was thick and square, the opening it concealed just barely large enough for someone to fit through if they squeezed. 

Working the crowbar into the crack between stones, Dean was able to pry the loose block out. Crouching down he shined his flash light inside. The weak light showed the walls of a dirt tunnel that slopped down gently before opening up into another, larger, room. Sighing, Dean readied the shot gun and climbed head first into the hole.

The tunnel was narrow and claustrophobia gripped Dean as he crawled forward. Thankfully, the passage was short. The tunnel ended in another crypt, though this one was not as well maintained as the Millsap one. Overhead a skylight covered in last fall’s leaves let in enough dappled moonlight to see clearly. A few of the stone coffins had been opened and the lids replaced poorly. The place stank of rot. Dean felt a sick sense of dread as he walked up to one of the coffins and used the crowbar to pry the lid off. He almost gagged at the stench of rotting flesh. Inside laid the corpse of Kate Milligan, her wide grey eyes staring accusingly up at him. Seeing her face up close, even in death, he could see the resemblance to Adam. He had to back away quickly as his stomach rolled in nausea. Dean opened the next coffin and found the body of the sheriff, his wide coke bottle glasses hanging askew.

Suddenly, from the tunnel, he heard a skittering noise, and the tinkle of dirt falling onto stone. Running back to the opening he raised the shot gun and fired. The skittering sounded again and suddenly the tinkling became a rumble as the tunnel collapsed. 

"Shit," Dean exclaimed, jumping back quickly as dirt came pouring out of the tunnel opening. Dean’s breath came in ragged gasps as he watched the dirt pour into the room before it trickled to a stop. Something knew he was here, and suddenly that feeling that had sat heavy in his chest since Barton had first called, the one that let him know his family was in danger, flared up sharply. Dean felt himself panic as he rushed to the door of the crypt, shaking the handle futilely then trying to pry it open with the crowbar. When that didn't work he tried to kick it open, jarring his whole body as he threw his weight against it. The door was solid iron and not only locked, but apparently welded shut. Dean took a few deep breaths trying to calm himself enough to think. Running the flash light around the room, he realized the only way to get out was up.

Finding some kind of pole leaning abandoned against one wall, Dean climbed on top of a coffin. Shoving his flash light in one pocket and the shot gun more carefully into the waist band of his pants, Dean grabbed the pole with both hands and broke out the glass of the dirty skylight. Scummy rain water mixed with broken glass and half rotted leaves fell to the floor. Sticking the pole through the skylight and using it as a bar, Dean pulled himself up onto the roof. He peered around the ground from this vantage point, trying to see if he could spot whatever had collapsed the tunnel. Making his way to the wall of the crypt, he cautiously lowered himself over the edge before letting go, falling the last few feet to the ground. The fall was rough, but Dean stayed crouched, pulling the gun from his jeans as he surveyed the area. Whatever had been in the tunnel seemed long gone. Dean raced to the car, hoping he could make it back to the house before the creature.

oooooooooooooooooooooo

Dean felt the familiar calm of battle settle on him as he opened the trunk of the Impala outside Adam‘s house. Grabbing the shot gun and a handful of shells loaded with iron buck shot, Dean loaded the gun quickly. From inside Dean could make out the faint sound of Adam screaming. The sound wasn’t loud enough to draw anyone’s attention, but it cut through Dean like razor wire. Not bothering the shut the trunk, Dean headed for the door. Shot gun at the ready, Dean raised his foot and kicked the door in with one powerful blow.

He found them in the dinning room, John strapped to the table as they cut into the skin of his forearms. The first one was wearing Kate Milligan’s face. Dean shot it in the chest

"Dean! Ghouls!" His dad barked. Dean didn’t question his father, just adjusted his aim and shot. The second one looked like Joe Barton, until its head was vaporized by the buck shot. Dean reloaded and aimed at the first just as it lurched upright, its head evaporating into a red mist.

Dropping the gun, Dean ran to his dad. Untying him, Dean quickly he grabbed some napkins from the side board and helped him apply pressure to his bleeding arms.

"Go get your brother," John said, holding his arms together to try and halt the bleeding. They had bound Adam to a chair, his wrists tied so tightly his hands had gone pale from loss of circulation. The kid had stopped screaming at the gun shots and now stared wide eyed and panting at Dean. Dean kneeled down to cut him loose, grabbing each wrist gently as he released it and rubbing the kid’s hands to stimulate blood flow. Once he was free, Adam launched himself into Dean’s arms. Dean almost fell with the force of the kid slamming into him, but he squeezed him back tightly anyway, whispering it was ok over and over into the kid’s ear. Adam was shaking like a leaf, so Dean stood up and, with one arm around holding the kid tightly against his side, walked him over to their father. Giving the kid over to John, Dean went outside to the car. He stood for a moment at the trunk staring blankly inside, just breathing deeply as he tried to control his own shaking. When he finally felt in control, he grabbed the first aid kit and went back inside.

Adam was standing in front of John, shaking violently, his face still wet with tears as he held the older man‘s wrists tightly, trying to help stem the bleeding. As soon as Dean arrived to take over, Adam flung his arms around Dean’s chest and clung on tightly. Dean didn't mind, his arms were still free to work and he wanted his brother close. John looked pale and shaken as Dean removed the linen from his forearms, inspecting the wounds. They were deep; thin strips of skin had been removed from the fleshy part of the arm, but none of the cuts had hit an artery. The ghouls hadn’t wanted him to bleed out, they wanted to make John suffer first. The wounds would need stitches though, so Dean got out what he would need and set to work.

John told Dean what happened while he sewed tight evenly spaced stitches into his father’s arms. He told Dean how they had boarded up every entrance into the house except the vent in the dinning room. But instead of the monsters they had expected coming from the floor, it had been Kate Milligan coming from the front door. With the monster disguised as his mother, Adam had lost his head and ran right into their trap. After subduing John, the ghouls had ranted for a while. They had been the children of the ghoul John had killed fourteen years ago and were back for revenge. Dean’s fingers had tightened as John recounted their plan to kill Kate and Adam first, and then lure John here by pretending to be his son, but he said nothing.

When Dean had finished bandaging John’s arms, he helped him to the couch. Adam still clung tightly to Dean as he helped John get settled. Leaving the whiskey from the first aid kit on the coffee table, Dean left his dad lying there and took Adam upstairs. Dean led the kid to his room and sat down on his bed. Dean turned on the small lamp beside the bed, its light warm and soothing as they sat side by side silently. Finally, alone and safe, the adrenaline fueled buffer that controlled his emotions fell and Dean shattered. Holding the kid close with one arm, he hid his face in the crook of the other and he wept silently. Adam pulled away after a moment, only to stand in front of Dean. Adam reached for him, trying to hold Dean against his boney chest. Embarrassed at being so vulnerable, Dean tried to pull away, but the kid’s scrawny arms were stronger then they looked. When the kid started stroking his head in comfort Dean sighed and gave in, wrapping his arms around his brother.

 

"What, you think you got to take care of me or something," Dean asked wetly, letting the rhythm of Adam’s heartbeat against his ear soothe him. 

"Somebody's got to," Adam said softly.

"I should have been here to take care of you." Dean confessed, tightening his hold on the kid.

"Dean, if you had been here we would all be dead now. You saved us," Adam said simply. Dean sighed deeply, letting the kid comfort him a bit longer before pulling away.

"You alright now?" Adam asked, leaving his hands on Dean‘s shoulders as he inspected his face. He seemed reluctant to let Dean go.

"I'm pretty sure that's my line kid." Dean said smiling weakly. Adam just shrugged, moving back to sit next to Dean on the bed. "Do you think you could sleep?" Dean asked. 

"No," Adam admitted softly, leaning tiredly against Dean.

"Do you have any cards?" Dean asked. He felt, more then saw Adam nod. "Then get um, and get ready for bed. I'll be back in a few."

Adam did as instructed, while Dean headed downstairs to take care of business. He searched the house, digging up some old sheets out of a cupboard. Wrapping up the bodies, Dean dragged them out the back door. There was a small shed in back hear, full of fire wood and a couple of bikes, but there was just enough room for Dean to stash the bodies until morning.

He checked on John before heading up back upstairs. His dad had passed out, the whiskey bottle sitting empty where Dean had left it. Upstairs he got ready for bed, and then retreated to Adam’s room. He spent the next hour teaching the kid how to play poker. He remembered John doing this for him after his first hunt, the terror and exhilaration had kept him awake for hours afterwards. He had been even younger then Adam then, but tonight he felt ancient as he tried to calm his little brother’s mind enough to get some rest. The kid had a great poker face, which didn’t surprise Dean, but they were both too exhausted to really focus. When the kid finally collapsed, Dean settled him gently into bed before he made his way to the guest room and fell into a fitful sleep.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooo

The next day Dean and John built a pyre and burned the corpses. Burning fresh corpses was nasty work. It sometimes took hours, the fire needing constant maintenance to keep it hot enough to burn off the muscle tissue, and then you had to wait for the bones to cool so they could be packed in salt and buried. Luckily, whatever made most supernatural creatures susceptible to salt and silver, also made most of them go up like kindling. Apparently ghouls were of the highly flammable variety.

They had only been out here twenty minutes and the flesh had already burned off. It looked liked the bones might even disintegrate in the flames, which would make getting out of here faster. They had left Adam inside. The idea of burning bodies in his back yard had left Adam looking a little green, but to Dean's surprise he had volunteered to clean up the blood stains. Dean usually never bothered, but in this case it would make for fewer questions when they left. Adam and his mom were well known in this town and the last thing they needed was some local yokel seeing those blood stains and issuing an amber alert. The town was going to be in enough uproar when they phoned in an anonymous tip about Kate and Barton’s bodies.

Ever since he awoke, Dean had been thinking about what they were going to do next. They could just take off, move on to the next town and the next case, but the idea made Dean uneasy. It wasn't just the fact that Adam was untrained, though it made things challenging, but Adam was thirteen. He would be starting high school next year. High school was hell for normal kids and their lifestyle would only make it worse. Even Dean and Sam, who had lived this way their entire lives, had found things unbearable when they were in high school. Dean knew it was always being the new kid, more then the arguments or Dean‘s refusals to disobey their father, that had driven Sammy to run away so often. Dean didn't want that for Adam, and before yesterday it seemed like their father hadn't either. 

"Dad," Dean said, steeling himself. Something about standing up to his dad yesterday, telling him how he felt, had liberated Dean, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t still nervous about confronting his father. "I think we should take Adam to Uncle Bobby's." 

"Bobby shot at me, son." John said, cocking an eyebrow at Dean. 

"Yeah, but he's always liked me," Dean replied with a half hearted smirk. He sobered quickly. "I just don't think we should take him with us." 

"So you us want to leave him with Bobby?" John asked looking at Dean in confusion.

"No, I want you to leave US with Bobby," Dean replied, swallowing nervously. He had only been brave enough to ask this once before, but this time he wasn’t going to take no for an answer. Not without a damn good reason. "I know you didn't think I could take care of Sammy by myself, but I'm not eighteen this time. I can get a job if I need to, and still teach him to hunt. I just don‘t think it‘s right to drag the kid with us." Dean’s voice trailed off. There were a thousand reasons he thought taking Adam on the road was a bad idea, he just didn’t know how to say them without upsetting his Dad. Sammy had always been good at this, taking some perverse pleasure in making their dad feel guilty about the things he couldn’t give them. Dean didn’t want that. He loved his father, unquestioningly, even now, and Dean was grateful for everything his father had taught him. But Dean also knew that his father’s priority had never been him and Sam. Dean was an adult now, and if their father couldn’t take care of Adam, then Dean was more then willing to step up and take his place. It was no less then he had would have done for Sammy, if their dad had allowed it. 

Dean watched his father carefully, waiting for some kind of explosion, but John just nodded thoughtfully.

"It's safer on the move," he started, making Dean’s stomach clench in fear at the expected denial, "But you're right." Dean looked at his father surprised. "Adam is too old to be drag into this life, maybe when he's older..." His voice trailed off thoughtfully. "I'm not blind you know. I saw how hard this life was on you boys, but I had my reasons for keeping you and Sammy on the road." Dean looked at John sharply.

"What reasons?" Dean asked hoping his father would answer this time. But it wasn't the first time he had asked, and he wasn't expecting an answer this time either.

"You know I'll tell you, when the time comes," was all John said. Dean sighed, it was the same old answer. "I think Adam would be safe enough in one place, as long as no one can connect him to me. Anyone who knows he’s my son is dead now. But I need you to be sure Dean." John said, his voice somber. "This is my mess, and it's not your responsibility to deal with it. I can find another way."

"Adam's not a mess, Dad, he's my brother. It's my job to take care of him.” Dean said softly. “I would have done the thing for Sammy if you'd of let me.”

"I know son," John reach out and squeezed Dean’s shoulder unexpectedly. "I'm proud of you Dean. I know I don't say it enough, but I am."

"Thank you, sir," Dean said, his voice rough.

"Now, we just have to hope Bobby likes you enough to take you in."

oooooooooooooooooooooo

By the time everything was settled and they were ready to leave it was just after three in the afternoon. When Dean asked, Adam had dug up a large duffle from the basement. It was off white and battered with Milligan stitched in tidy faded pink embroidery on the top flap. Dean had smirked at it, but Adam just shrugged.

"It was my mom's," he said simply. 

Apparently Kate Milligan had been something of a free spirit and had gone on an extended road trip right after high school. That probably explained what she had seen in Dad. Dean promised himself not to tease the kid too much about it.

He told the kid to only pack what he needed, they would be back for the rest. Bobby's place was only a few hours from here and Dean figured they could come back in a few days to sort things out, maybe sell off some of the furniture. They would also have to make funeral arrangements. 

Dean drove. John was still pale from the blood loss, making the dark circles under his eyes stand out in sharp relief. John had elected to ride in the back so he could get some rest. He was asleep before they had even left town and Dean had turned the radio on low to help drown out the sound of his snoring. They made only one stop. Once they were outside of town, Dean had pulled onto the shoulder and taken out one of their burner phones. Calling the Windom Sheriff’s office, he had let them know where to find Kate and Barton's bodies. He had stepped out of the car to make the call, but he knew the kid had heard him. They drove a few more miles before Adam spoke.

"So, you found her." Adam said quietly, forehead pressed against the window as he stared sightlessly out at the passing landscape. 

"Yeah," Dean said, his heart aching for the kid. "We'll let the cops handle it. That way you can give her a proper funeral." 

"Thanks," Adam said. They sat in silence, the radio playing through two more songs before Dean spoke.

"When I was four my mom died," Dean said. "A demon killed her." He didn't know why he was telling the kid this, it just felt right. His instincts hadn’t been wrong with the kid yet, so he decided to follow them. He didn't look over at Adam, but he could feel the kid’s eyes watching him.

"I'm sorry," Adam said after a moment, reaching across the seat and placing his hand gently on Dean’s shoulder. Dean looked at him in surprise. It figured the kid would try to comfort him. "Did you get the demon?" he asked.

"No," Dean said, "That's why Dad started hunting. He's still trying to find it." 

"Can I help?" Adam asked. Dean smiled at the kid. 

"Sure, but first we're going to a friend’s house. We'll train you up, let you finish school, and then, if you still want to hunt, you can join us." Dean paused a moment before continuing. "And if you don't want to hunt, that's ok too."

"Of course I want to hunt. How else am I gonna to watch after you?" The kid asked. Dean rolled his eyes.

"Listen kid, I've been watching after myself for a long time now."

"So have I," Adam interrupted. "It was just me and my mom you know. But you're my brother. I'm supposed to watch out for you, just like you're supposed to watch out for me. Right?"

"Yeah kid, I guess you're right," Dean sighed and decided to let the matter drop. Dean looked in the rear view mirror to see if their dad had woken up yet. His snoring had quieted; it would only be a matter of time before he awoke.

"Dean can I ask you something? About Sam?" Adam asked tentatively. Surprised, Dean nodded. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Adam look back at their dad before turning to Dean.

"Is... is he dead?" Adam whispered. 

"What!" Dean yelped, louder then he meant too. They both looked back to make sure John was asleep. "Dude, no!" Dean whispered, confused. "Why would you think that?" 

"It's just you don't talk about him, or when you do, you seem kind of sad. Both of you. I thought he must have died." 

"No," Dean sighed, "He's not dead, but he is gone. He's at Stanford."

"Really?" Adam asked sounding impressed. 

"Yeah, I know. Kid's a genius." Dean said the pride evident in his voice.

"So why don't you talk about him."

"It's complicated." Dean said, unsure of how to explain the mess that was him and Sammy and dad. He tried anyway, the kid deserved to know. "Sammy never wanted to hunt. He was just a baby when our mom died, and he didn't understand why we had to always move around. He and Dad fought about it a lot." Dean trailed off, trying to push aside the memory of all those fights. "I guess he got tired of it and wanted his own life. When Dad found out, he told Sammy if he left, not to come back. He left anyway."

"Do you think he meant it?" Adam asked. Dean looked in the mirror at his dad. He had thought so at the time, but he knew John still watched over Sam, just like Dean.

"I don't know, kid." Dean sighed. 

"Do you talk to him?"

"Nah, kid’s got a new life now. Doesn't need me around messing it up." Dean said, uncomfortably.

"Bullshit," Adam said. Dean looked over at him surprised. The kid’s face was pink with embarrassment at the outburst, but there was a familiar stubborn set to his jaw. "Will you tell him?” The kid asked changing the subject when Dean said nothing. “About me?"

"I don't know, kid," Dean sighed, "He might not want to have anything to do with me, but he'd probably want to know you." Mostly, so he could have another reason to hate their father, but Dean thought it best not to mention that.

"The next time you check on him, you should talk to him." Adam stated.

"What makes you think I check on him?" Dean bluffed. This kid really was to smart for his, or Dean’s, own good.

"It's what I would do." Dean couldn‘t help but to smile at that. The kid might look more like Sammy, but every time he said something like that, Dean felt an unexpected spark of kinship with his new little brother. The kid seemed to understand him, probably better then Sammy or Dad ever had, even though they had just met. Something heavy inside of Dean seemed to lighten for the first time in days, maybe months. He reached over and ruffled the kid hair.

"And great minds think alike huh?" Dean asked, grinning like a fool. Adam said nothing, but when Dean looked over he was staring out the side window, a small contented smile on his face. 

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Sioux Falls was only ninety minutes from Windom so they arrived well before dark. John awoke as they pulled up the gravel drive. As Dean parked the car, Bobby came out on his porch to greet them, a shot gun in one hand casually propped against his shoulder. He looked the same as ever, in his grungy John Deere cap, grease stained tee shirt and flannel. His scruffy ginger beard seemed to have more grey in it then the last time Dean had seen him. Adam waited for Dean to get out of car before following him. Once out, the kid stuck close to Dean’s side, obviously unnerved by Bobby. John hesitated before getting out of the car, walking behind them.

"Hey ya, Bobby," Dean called out cheerfully, giving the older man a cheeky little wave.

"Boy, please tell me that kid you got hanging from your coats tails ain't yours," Bobby growled out inspecting Adam keenly. Dean's mouth gapped open in shock. 

"What? Are you? Bobby!" Dean sputtered, his brain unable to finish a sentence. Where the hell had that come from?

"The boy's mine," John spoke up from behind them, saving Dean from having to answer.

"Didn't I shoot you?" Bobby asked, still scrutinizing Adam.

"You tried," John said placidly.

"Must be getting old, to miss such an easy target." Bobby groused.

"Maybe you've just got a soft spot for me, Singer." John said smiling.

"Yeah, a soft spot in my head," Bobby huffed. He must have found whatever he was looking for in Adam, because he abruptly turned to John. "Why don't you boys go inside and see what you can do about making supper. Me and your daddy need to talk." Dean put his arm around Adam and pushed him forward, leading him up the stairs. He stopped when they were even with Bobby.

"Bobby Singer, this is my brother, Adam Milligan." Dean said, introducing them formally. Bobby raised an eyebrow at that but said nothing, just tipped his head to the boy in greeting. "Adam, this is Uncle Bobby." Dean said, squeezing the kids shoulder, hoping he would relax. Adam nodded back at Bobby. He was pressed back against Dean, obviously intimidated by the gruff older man, but he didn't flinch from his gaze. Dean clapped Adam on the shoulder and continued to push him towards the door. As he passed Bobby he couldn’t resist giving the older man a cocky grin.

"Try not to shoot dad, will ya? You'll make the kid nervous." He wise cracked.

"Just get inside,” Bobby sighed, as Adam opened the door. "Idjit.”

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Dean led Adam through Bobby's living room and back to the kitchen, giving him a small tour. Not that there was much to see except dusty rooms filled with stacks of books. He did point out the devil’s traps and protective talismans that Bobby kept hidden around the place.

"Bobby's an expert on demons." Dean said proudly, as he searched through the kitchen trying to decide what to make. "In fact Bobby's a genius when it comes to research. He can identify pretty much anything with those books. Everybody calls Bobby when they need help."

"Are we going to live here?" Adam asked watching the front door nervously. He didn't sound too thrilled with the idea. 

"Maybe, if he'll have us." Dean knew Bobby had offered more than once to let him and Sam stay indefinitely while their dad hunted. But that was a long time ago. Dean wasn't a kid anymore and Bobby didn't know Adam. Plus, he had tried to shoot dad.

 

"How about burgers? “ Dean asked, looking through the fridge.

"Are burgers all you eat?" Adam asked. 

"No, “Dean said. “I also eat bacon and pie." Dean grinned as Adam rolled his eyes.

"That's why you're going to get fat and have a heart attack before you’re thirty." Adam said, pushing Dean out of the way to open the pantry. He stared at the contents thoughtfully before pulling out a box of pasta, some cans and a jar of herbs. Dean hoped that was really Italian seasoning, and not some miss labeled magic crap. It wouldn’t kill them, hopefully, but Dean doubted it would taste very good. Setting his haul on the counter, Adam went to the fridge and pulled out the ground beef Dean had been eying, a couple sticks of limp looking celery, and half an onion wrapped in plastic. He handed these to Dean and ordered him to get chopping. Saluting with the celery, Dean got to work.

While Dean chopped, Adam rummaged around, pulling out a large pot and pan and setting them on the stove. He also dug up a can opener and a couple cloves of garlic that he handed to Dean. Filling the pot with water, he set it on the back burner to heat then started opening cans. By the time Dean was done he had the cans open and the pan heating up. They worked well together, Adam adding things to the pan while Dean stirred things round and tried not to burn himself. By the time they got the sauce done, the water still hadn't started boiling, so Dean scrounged up a lid for the pan and turned down the heat.

"You stay here and watch the food, I'll go make sure they haven't stabbed each other while we weren't looking." Dean said.

"Do you think they might've?" Adam asked, staring at the front door in concern. 

"Nah, Bobby's bark is worse then his bite." Dean reassured him. He wasn't as sure about their dad. The man was damn stubborn.

Dean walked cautiously to the front door, easily avoiding the creaky floor board at the base of the stairs and the one just inside the front door. Peeking out the window, Dean could see them standing, leaning forward against the porch rails, their backs to the door. They were passing Bobby's flask between them. Their voices were muffled, But Bobby had opened a window to let in the warm spring breeze, and Dean could make out what they were saying, clearly.

"I thought he was going to hit me, Bobby," his dad was saying, taking a long pull from flask before handing it over to the other man. "Never seen him so riled up before."

"Boy always was a bit of a momma bear when it came to Sam.” Bobby said thoughtfully. “Did you really think he'd be any different with this one?” Bobby took a more leisurely pull from the flask. "Idjit."

"Kid thought I was ashamed of him." John said tensely, like he was admitting some shameful secret. Dean could see the tension in his father’s broad shoulders, making him looked hunched and small. The sight made something inside Dean squirm uncomfortably.

 

"Are you?" Bobby asked bluntly.

"Of course not, Bobby." John sighed deeply. "He's a bit rough around the edges, but he's a good man. And he's so full of love and loyalty for this family, even for a kid he's just met, he couldn‘t make me prouder if he tried. But this past year..." John voice trailed off.

"He's been a bit broken." Bobby stated. 

“I hadn’t thought he’d been by since you tried to shoot me.” John said surprised.

“He hasn’t.” Bobby replied. “He called me the night Sam left. Probably doesn’t even remember, the boy was so drunk.” Dean winced at that. He didn’t remember and he was kind of relieved. Who knew what kind of soppy things he had spilled out to Bobby that night? "Maybe taking care of this kid can help fix him up a bit." Bobby added, thoughtfully.

"I hope so Bobby,” His dad said, sounding exhausted. “Cause something's coming, and I don't know if Dean will be strong enough to handle it, otherwise."

Dean decided he'd heard enough. Nothing good ever came of eavesdropping. Stepping purposefully on the creaky floorboard, Dean opened the door. 

"Dinner’s up." They both turned and nodded at him, but didn't make any move to follow so Dean retreated to the kitchen. Adam was trying to dump the boiling pot of pasta into the strainer by himself, so Dean rushed forward to help. Together they managed to set the table. Dean, with a little digging, had even found a large serving platter. He rinsed it off and added the pasta, then poured the sauce on top. He was just pulling out a beer, when the other’s arrived.

"When'd you learn how to cook?" Bobby asked, eying Dean suspiciously.

"Don't look at me," Dean said pointing to the kid, "I just stirred stuff."

ooooooooooooooooooooooo

It wasn't gourmet, by any means, but Dean didn't mind. The fact that it didn't come from some crappy diner was novel enough that Dean liked it. No one complained, so Dean figured the kid had done good. When they were done Dean and Bobby offered to clean up. John had thrown Bobby a look at that, before he took Adam upstairs to show him the spare room. They cleaned in silence, Dean washing while Bobby dried and put things away. 

"How you holding up, kid?" Bobby asked breaking the quiet.

"Ah, you know me Bobby. I'm always good." Dean answered giving him a cocky smirk.

"Yeah, I know you, kid. I know you heard us talking earlier." Dean blushed and felt himself squirm at being caught.

"Yeah, what of it?" Dean said shrugging trying to act nonchalant. That act had never worked on Bobby in the past, but that never stopped Dean from trying. He kept his eyes fixed on the dish he was washing. Bobby sighed but said nothing. They finished in silence. As he pulled the plug from the drain, Dean finally spoke.

"I'm still pissed." He said watching the water slowly sink down. "I still think I could of done something, watched out for the kid, if I had known."

"Your dad should of told you,” Bobby agreed. “But wither you could’a done something or not…” Bobby sighed deeply. “Well you'll drive yourself crazy with that crap. Best, just be glad you got to him when you did." Dean had a sudden vividly image of Adam lying cold and bloody inside one of those broken coffins, looking up at him accusingly with dead glassy eyes, like his mother and the sheriff. He shuddered at the thought.

"What about you Bobby?" Dean asked turned towards the other man. "You ok with us just moving in like this? Cause I can find something else." Dean said crossing his arms. 

"Don't be any stupider than you look, boy. Family don't end with blood. You and your brother’s are always welcome here." 

"Thanks Bobby," Dean said, throat tight. Their dad may have kept them safe and taught them everything he knew about hunting, but Bobby was the one who taught him how to throw a fast ball, had helped Sammy with his English homework and had always taken them in no matter what their dad had done to piss him off. He'd always thought of Bobby as family, but it was nice to hear to the older man agreed with him. 

"Now, if we're done having our Hallmark moment," Bobby said as John's heavy steps started down the stairs, "I got some research to do. Walt and Roy seem to have found themselves a haunted mine, and can't figure out which of the forty-seven miners to die there stuck around. Damn rookies." Bobby said in disgust, as headed toward his study.

"Night, Bobby," Dean called, nodding to his father who followed after him. Dean knew he would most likely bury himself in Bobby's books as well. It would take a normal man a hundred years to get through all of Bobby's books on demons and the occult, but John, in his never ending quest to find the thing that killed their mother, seemed determined to try. 

It was early, but since Bobby's ancient TV only picked up local stations, badly, Dean decided to head upstairs to indulge in his guilty pleasure. Dean had always hidden it from Sammy, not wanting his brainiac brother to get any weird ideas, but Dean loved to read. Vonnegut, Kerouac, Bukowski, Burrows, even cheap pulp fiction if that's all he could get his hands on. He wasn't well read by any means, not like Sammy. He had never paid much attention in school, never seeing the need, and spent more of his free time reading monster codices then literature, but he indulged whenever he had time to himself. He'd had a lot of that lately.

Bobby's place had only two spare rooms upstairs. One was filled with boxes, all of them full of books, knowing Bobby. The other had been Sam and Dean’s room when they were kids. Bobby had even let then pick the wall color when he set the room up for them. Dean had wanted blue, but let Sammy have his way when he insisted on red. It wasn't much, just a couple of twin beds, a dresser, and one little window that looked out over the junk yard, but he and Sam had been rather proud of it. It was the only place, besides the Impala, that had felt like theirs, even if they couldn't be there as often as they wanted. 

Dean rapped softly on the door before walking in and looking around. His gear was thrown on Sammy's old bed while Adam was sprawled out on Dean's playing with some kind of game consol. At least he wouldn't be bored. Even here, Bobby's books had encroached over the years. It had been more then three years since the last time he had stayed here. Boxes sat in the corners stacked high and dusty and the place had a disused feel to it. Adam and John had changed the sheets on both beds, at least.

Dean grabbed his gear and headed to the bathroom to get ready for bed. He came back, hair still damp from his shower and threw his dirty clothes in the corner. Adam rolled his eyes at that, but said nothing. 

Self conscience, Dean pulled the book he was currently reading out of his bag, glancing at Adam to see if he'd say something. The kid didn't even look up, his attention absorbed in his game. Relieved, Dean made himself comfortable and started reading.

ooooooooooooooooooooo

When Dean got up the next morning Adam was still asleep. It was early, only seven, and even though Dean had stayed up late reading, he had still managed a solid six hours of sleep. It was more than he usually got, and he felt surprisingly well rested. The kid had gone to bed before him, turning off his game and curling up under the covers and passing out. He hadn’t even asked Dean to turn off the light. Dean had watched Adam as he got ready for the day. He didn't sprawl in his sleep like Sammy, or even Dean, but sort of curled up into himself, the covers pulled up almost over his head. Dean found it kind of adorable, though he would never tell the kid. He left Adam to sleep and headed downstairs.

Bobby was sitting at the kitchen table reading through a stack of newspapers. He subscribed to about half a dozen papers from the surrounding area looking for signs of the supernatural. Dean knew he also searched the internet regularly, but he liked to keep an eye on his territory the old fashioned way. Bobby rarely went on hunts far from home, not that Dean had seen anyway. He did have a business to run after all, even if he did most of his work online. He also knew a couple dozen hunters he could call if he found something he couldn‘t get too.

"Where's Dad?" Dean asked, pouring himself a cup of coffee.

"Study. Might have found himself a hunt." 

Dean sighed. He had known it wouldn't be long before John left, but he had hoped he would wait till Adam was settled before he took off. Dean sat down with his coffee and grabbed one of Bobby's papers.

Twenty minutes later, Adam stumbled downstairs rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. He made his way into the kitchen, mumbling good morning as he sat down. Dean got up and opened the fridge, inspecting its meager contents. He would have to get some money together soon. Bobby might consider them family, but Dean didn't know how long that would last if he went broke trying to keep them fed. Hustling pool would work in the short term, but if he was going to be staying here for next few years while Adam was in school, he would need a steady source of income. And he had to figure out how he could keep hunting without being gone for weeks at a time. He didn't want to be a semi presence in the kid’s life, but he couldn‘t see himself giving up hunting for good either. Protecting people was important to him. He also had to think about training the kid, to at least to protect himself if not to hunt. He owed the kid that. Grabbing the eggs, he set about making him and Adam breakfast as he lost himself in planning.

Setting down their breakfast, Dean dug through the papers scattered on the table, looking for the local want ads. He ate his eggs slowly as he browsed through the help wanted section. What he saw was depressing. Sioux Falls was the biggest town in this part of the state, but it was hardly a bustling metropolis. Most job offers were for farm hands and the like outside of town. Dean wasn't averse to getting his hands dirty, but he didn't know jack about farming. Many were for things he was grossly under qualified for, nurses and legal aides and the like. Only two jobs looked promising, a bartending position and an opening for a shop clerk at the local Stop ’n Shop.

"What're you looking for?" Adam asked as he took away Dean’s empty plate. Dean couldn’t even remember finishing, he was so engrossed in his search. 

"A job," he replied absently, browsing through the ads a second time hoping to find something he missed.

"I got something for ya, if you're interested." Bobby said casually from behind his paper. Dean looked over at him in surprise. "I need some one to mind my web site. Boy I had doing it went off to college and I haven't had time to replace him.” Bobby said, not looking away from the article he was reading. “Job’s easy, just taking pictures of parts and putting them on the site. Pay’s fifty a week. Should keep you and kid fed at least. Plus, if you’re interested, I could use help out in the yard. I'll pay you ten percent commission on any parts you salvage or rebuild, that sell."

"Really? That pay well?"

"Well enough." Bobby said. "Mostly sell to classic car collectors. Idjits’ll bleed themselves dry on parts for those things. Keeps me in books and beer anyway. Though you're welcome to try your luck at the Stop 'n Shop. You'd look adorable in a smock." Dean grimaced at the thought. He had known Bobby avoided most credit scams, being stationary made him too easy to catch, but he hadn't known he could afford to hire someone on. Then again considering the amount of old rare books, ingredients and artifacts the man had, Dean shouldn't have been surprised. 

"Yeah, Bobby. That sounds great." Dean said. It was a start anyway. 

"Let me know when you're ready and I'll set you up." Bobby said going back to his paper. Relieved, Dean left the kitchen in search of his dad.

ooooooooooooooooooooo

He found his dad outside in Bobby garage. He was working on a big old GMC truck.

"Hey, Dad," Dean said.

"Hand me that wrench will ya?" John replied. Dean watched silently while his dad worked, remembering all the times he had watched while John worked on the Impala. He felt a weird sense of nostalgia at the thought, but shook it off.

"Heard you found a hunt." Dean said, sideling up to the truck to see if he could lend a hand. He passed him another wrench without being asked.

"Yeah. Down in Florida. I'll be heading out sometime tomorrow."

"Bobby offered me a job."

"He mentioned it to me last night. It's a fair deal, son. You should take it."

"Yeah." They worked together quietly. "What's with the truck?" Dean finally asked.

"Bobby said if I could get her up and running I could have her.” John said, surprising Dean. “I figured it was about time we had another vehicle. Don't think I didn't notice that car at the motel." His dad said, giving him a stern look.

"Sorry, sir." Dean said sheepishly. It had been sloppy keeping the car around. And even sloppier just leaving it, but he was fairly sure no one would connect it to him, or to Adam.

"No more stealing cars while you’re with Bobby. And no credit scams. I want you staying under the radar, so have Bobby make you a new id."

"Yes sir," Dean replied dutifully. He had already been thinking about this himself, but he didn't interrupt. He knew his dad was just worried. This wasn't waiting in some motel room until his dad came to collect him. This felt more permanent. They were, essentially, splitting up for the foreseeable future. He was sure his dad would visit as often as he could, but from now on Dean was on his own. He wondered idly, if Sammy had felt this knot of anxiety in his stomach when he had left for Stanford.

They spent the rest of day working on the truck and talking. They talked about business mostly. When John would visit, how to start training Adam, how often he would call. At some point Adam brought them out sandwiches and stayed to watch. Dean put him to work fetching things, while John pointed out parts and explained how they worked. Adam watched them eagerly, enjoying the work like Dean thought he might. It was nice, almost like a normal family. Dean savored it; he knew they might never have a moment like this again. When he went to bed that night, his only regret was that Sammy hadn’t been there with them.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooo

The next day Dean got a call from the Cotton County Sheriff’s office informing him that Kate Milligan had been found dead. Dean was surprised it had taken so long to for them to contact him. Apparently the late sheriff could be discreet, since it had taken them a day to even find his number. The body had already been identified by a co-worker, so all that remained was to settle her estate and arrange the funeral. Dean desperately wanted to hand this off to his dad, he hadn't even known the woman. But he knew, with his dad leaving, he would end up dealing with this in the long run. 

The deputy he spoke to had given him the number of the Milligan family lawyer. When Dean called, the man was annoyingly jolly about the death of his client. He told Dean that Kate had a modest life insurance policy through her work. It was enough to cover any funeral expenses, leaving a sizable chunk for Adam. Dean had sighed in relief when the lawyer told him a close friend of Kate’s was arranging the funeral. Dean had agreed to let her handle everything, as long as Kate was cremated. No sense inviting trouble. After getting the date and time of the funeral, Dean had thanked the man and hung up.

Making his way down stairs, Dean had pulled Adam aside and told him the details. The kid remained impassive, but Dean was starting to see through the mask, or maybe the kid was letting his guard down around him because Dean could tell he was upset by the news. Adam retreated upstairs as soon as he finished, and Dean let him be for now, he knew some things were easier to deal with alone. He would try to get the kid talking later. Dean then searched out his dad and told him the news.

"Kid might want you there. Think you'll make it?" Dean asked, watching his dad go through the gear in the trunk of the Impala, separating what to keep and what to leave behind with the truck.

"I'll try, son. I owe her and Adam that much." John said loading the last of the gear into the tool boxes mounted on the bed of the truck.

"Why ya leaving so much stuff behind? " Dean asked. He planned to hunt as often as possible, but he wouldn't need all of this, not till Adam was much older.

"I'm not." John said, jumping down from the back of the truck before walking over to Dean. Digging into his pocket, he pulled out the keys to the Impala. He looked at them thoughtfully for a moment before holding them out to Dean. "I've always meant for you to have her son, and now seems like the right time."

"But, I…“ Dean trailed off as he looked at his father, lost for words. “Thank you sir," Dean finally whispered, unable to get enough air into lungs around the sudden lump in his throat. He took the keys reverently. He knew how much this car meant to his father. He had bought this car with their mom, when they had first got together. It had brought both him and Sammy home from the hospital. It had kept them all safe on the road for the last twenty years. It was the one safe, consistent thing in their lives, besides his each other. Dean knew what this car meant to his father, because it meant the same to him. For John to hand her over like this was staggering.

"Listen, Dean, I'm giving you the car because I expect you to take of it. Just like I expect you to take care of your brother. I know I can count on you to step up and be a better man then me."

"Dad," Dean tried to protest. 

"No just listen," John cut in, "It's always been you that held this family together. Sam would of left a long time ago if not for you, and I know you'll take care of Adam better then I could. I know I've asked a lot of you, more then I should've, but I'm relying on you keep this family together, no matter what. Then maybe..." John trailed off looking thoughtful. Dean wiped his eyes, hoping his dad didn't notice.

"But don't think I won't be checking up on you," John said giving him a sudden sharp look.

"No, sir," Dean replied dutifully, ignoring the way his voice cracked.

"And make sure you keep her in good condition, or there'll be hell to pay." John said clapping Dean on the shoulder.

"Yes, sir." John pulled Dean into a quick hug then, with one arm still around Dean’s shoulders, walked them both back towards the house.

"Let's go find your brother."

ooooooooooooooooooooooo

John packed up then rest of his gear and headed out that afternoon. He had pulled Adam aside before he left. The kid face had remained as impassive as ever, but Dean could detect a hint of sullenness around his eyes. Dean understood, they had barely had any time together as a family and already their dad was leaving. But that was the way it always was with John, and the faster the kid learned that, the easier his life would be. If he didn’t, he'd just end up bitter and angry like Sammy had. Dean would just have to make sure that didn't happen. They had both glanced at Dean a few times as they talked, so he figured he was telling the kid to mind. At least, he hoped that was what he was telling the kid. It was bad enough the kid thought he needed looking after, he didn’t need his dad encouraging him.

When they had finished, he gave Bobby a nod and Dean a slap on the back and then he was gone. Bobby went inside but Adam and Dean stayed to watch him drive off till the dust had settled and the truck was long out of sight. They sat together on the porch steps, each thinking about what John had said to them. Dean was proud that his dad knew he could rely on him, but being on his own like this was suddenly terrifying. He didn't know why, it wasn't like he had never watched his dad take off without him, but something about the whole thing felt odd to Dean, like there was more going on then John was telling him. Finally, Adam broke the silence.

"Is this what it was like for you as a kid?" Adam asked.

"Yeah," Dean sighed. "Except he usually dragged us with him. He'd find a place, leave us there for a few weeks, sometimes a few months, then come pick us up and move us again."

"He'd leave you alone?" Adam asked, the furrow between his brows giving away his worry. Dean wasn't sure why it made him smile, but it did.

"Yeah, or sometimes with Bobby, or other friends. It wasn't too bad." Adam sat gazing across the lot thoughtfully.

"You know, my mom worked the grave yard shift at the hospital. I had to cook my own dinner and put myself to bed. All we had was each other. If this is how things are, then I guess I'll take what I can get." Dean reached over and ruffled the kid’s hair, trying to lighten the mood.

"Hey, you‘ve got me, kid. I‘ll even tuck you in, if you want." Dean said as the kid tried to push him off. Dean decided to play dirty and started looking for ticklish spots. He didn't let up until the kid was holding his sides laughing like a loon. It was only when both of them had collapsed back onto the worn boards of the porch, smiling so hard their face’s hurt, that Dean felt he had done the right thing. 

oooooooooooooooooooooo

They spent the next few days cleaning up the spare room. There wasn't any furniture, so it mainly involved cleaning out the boxes of books. Once they got started though, Adam insisted on thoroughly cleaning everything. He dusted and wiped every available surface, scrubbed the wood floors, washed the windows, and even took the small rug outside to beat. After a while Dean and Bobby retreated to the kitchen for a beer, leaving the kid too it.

"Sorry Bobby," Dean said taking a long pull from the bottle. "I didn't know the kid was such a neat freak."

"Better than a slob who leaves tooth paste all over the sink." Bobby said, given Dean a pointed look. Dean grinned sheepishly, finishing off his beer and making a point to throw it away properly. Dean didn’t know what Bobby was bitching about; the man had his own room and bathroom downstairs. Dean figured he would probably drive Adam crazy in a matter of days, though.

When the room was clear and cleaned to Adam’s standards, Bobby took them to the hardware store and told them to pick out a color they wanted to paint their rooms. Dean thought Adam would pick basic blue like his old room, but the kid surprised him by picking a light teal color. Dean had hesitated at first, wondering if he should get rid of the color he and Sammy had chosen so long ago, until found a warm tan color that matched the Impala's seats perfectly. 

They painted Adam’s room first, letting it dry before moving all the furniture into it and painting Dean's. As his room dried, Dean realized the beds were going to be problem. Dean was too large to sleep on a twin for the next however many years, and Adam wouldn't fit in one forever, no matter how tightly he curled up on himself in his sleep. Bobby offered to buy them new beds but Dean vetoed that idea.

"That's too much Bobby. I'll just save up until I can get them," Dean had insisted.

"How ya gonna do that if you break your back outta pride? Idjit." Bobby had replied. It was Adam who came up with the solution.

"We're going back for my stuff right?" he asked. "Why can't we take those beds? They're mine now, right?" Dean and Bobby were uncomfortable with the idea of taking from a dead woman, but the kid was right. If they didn’t use them, they would just be sold anyway. That settled, they sorted through Bobby’s things, finding Adam a dresser in the basement that wasn’t too badly damaged and getting themselves settled.

They drove back to Windom three days before the funeral. Dean and Adam took the Impala and Bobby brought his truck. They cleaned out Adam’s house the first day, loading furniture, some bedding and most of the kid’s things into the truck. The next morning Bobby left and Dean helped Adam sort through his mother’s personal things, helping him decide what he wanted to keep. They packed up all the photo albums and pictures they could find, and a few personal items and pieces of jewelry that were more sentimental then valuable. Adam only cried once. Dean had hugged him until the storm passed. Once they had finished, Dean had led him to the kitchen to make lunch. Dean spent the rest of the afternoon talking to the kid’s school about getting him transferred to Sioux Falls, while Adam napped on the couch.

Their last day was the day of the funeral. Dean had brought his nicest clothes for the service while Adam wore a suit and tie. It was a little small; he had grown since the last time he had worn it, but he looked good. They made their way to the local church where it was being held and met Kate's friend. Her name was Betty, or Betsy, Dean couldn't for the life of him remember, and she knew Kate through her work at the hospital. Kate had apparently been well liked and the woman had gone all out. There were flowers on the tables, the traditional white lilies, and it was laden with food brought by people paying their respects. It wasn't lavish, but it was more heart felt then most funeral’s Dean had been to. Kate had no family but Adam, but there was still a good turn out of friends and co-workers. All of them wanted to pay their respects to Adam. Adam bore it stoically, nodding and being polite to everyone that came up to him. Dean didn't know he could stand it.

About an hour into the funeral, John showed up. He was dressed in his generic FBI suit, looking cold and aloof sitting at the back of the room near the door. He didn't approach them. Dean squeezed Adams shoulder when he had spotted him, directing his attention towards their father. Adam’s shoulders sagged in relief at the sight of him, but stopped, confused, when Dean wouldn‘t allow him to join John. When there was a lull in well wishers, Dean explained.

"Sorry kid." Dean said in sympathy. "He doesn't want anyone here too connect you to him. Someone might recognize him from last time. It's safer for them and us." Dean knew it was disappointing, he had been forced to go to Sam’s high school graduation like that, sneaking in and out like strangers instead of sitting in the front row cheering like Dean had wanted. Adam just sighed and nodded.

There wasn't a priest or any kind of traditional service, but a few people got up and made speeches. Luckily no one expected him or Adam to say anything. John left at some point and Dean knew they wouldn't see him again until the next time he showed up at Bobby's. Finally, the memorial wound down and they were able to leave. Dean and Adam thanked Kate's friend. She was teary eyed as she hugged Adam goodbye, telling him to keep on touch. Adam had just nodded. He knew he was probably never coming back here.

Back at Adam’s house they changed and loaded up the remaining boxes in the trunk of the Impala. They left the rest for the bank, or whoever owned the house now. As they worked, the melancholy from the funeral seemed to have seeped into Dean’s skin, leaving him feeling restless. He kept thinking about Dad and Sammy and how far apart everyone seemed now. John was gone, not just for a week or a month, but permanently. The next time he saw his dad he would just be visiting. The thought made him long to go see Sammy, to make sure his little brother was safe and happy at Stanford. His family seemed more broken then ever and he wasn't sure if he could ever mend it. As he closed then trunk, he came to a decision. Pulling out his cell phone he started to call Bobby.

"Hey kid? You up for a road trip?"

 

oooooooooooooooooooo

Dean drove until well after midnight, letting Adam sleep in the passenger’s seat for most of the trip. They had stopped for dinner and Dean had ignored Adam’s scowl at his bacon cheese burger. Mostly. He tried to tell himself he had wanted the side salad instead of fries, but gave it up. He was whipped, and he knew it. Not even Sammy had been able to get him to eat healthy like this. It must be Adam's strong silent approach, it was harder to ignore then Sammy's nagging. Finally around two am he stopped and found a room. When he couldn‘t wake Adam, he had shrugged and carried the kid inside.

They stopped one more time on the way to California, and leaving early the next morning they arrived at Stanford in the late afternoon. Dean parked six blocks away from Sammy's apartment, not wanting his brother to spot the car. They walked the rest of the way, trying to blend into the press of students. Sammy's place wasn't on campus, but it was close and the area was always crowded with kids. Dean was thankful for it, it made it easier to avoid being spotted.

Dean led Adam to a cafe across the street and had them sit outside. It wasn't long before he saw Sammy. He nudged Adam and pointed.

"See the sasquash over there with the ridiculous hair?" Dean asked. "That's Sammy." He was hard to miss, he towered over everyone else on the street. The red head he head last seen him with must of been a bust, because today Sammy was talking with a brunette, leaning in close and laughing at something she said. Sam always did have a thing for brunettes. Dean looked over at Adam, but his eyes were riveted on Sam. Finally, he looked over at Dean.

"Are we going over there?" Adam asked, looking hopeful. Dean shook his head and looked away.

"He's not ready. Not yet" Dean said, hoping Adam wouldn't hear what he was really saying. Dean wasn't ready. Not yet.

"Then give me five bucks." Adam said, holding his hand out. Confused, Dean complied. He protested, as Adam started across the street, but didn't follow. He watched as Adam walked past Sam and the girl, the stopped, bent over and pretended to pick something up. He hesitated a moment before going up to Sam. As far as cons went, it was weak and if Sammy had been on his game he would have seen right through it. But Sammy was living the easy life and had no reason to distrust some random kid on the street. He watched as they spoke briefly, Adam holding up the money and Sam shaking his head smiling down at him. Dean stood as Adam walked away, tailing the kid for two blocks, before crossing the street to join him. At least the kid had good instincts. When he finally caught up to him, Dean grabbed Adam’s arm and pulled him close, leading him towards the Impala. 

"That was stupid, he could have made you," Dean chided. They walked in silence for a moment before Dean finally asked. "Well? How was he? What did he say?" Adam shrugged.

"He didn't say much. He seemed normal. Like a nice guy." Adam said. "He looked at me funny for a second." 

"Funny how?" Dean demanded.

"Like he knew me. It’s why I left. I just wanted to see him up close." 

"It's ok, kid, but remind me to teach you how to pull a move like more gracefully. That was sloppy."

"Or, we could just go see him." Adam said exasperated.

"We will." Dean said with conviction. He didn't know how or when, but he knew he would see his brother again, that he would introduce him to Adam, that he would get his family back together. He just had a feeling about it. He just had to wait for the right time. Feeling a sudden surge of hope, Dean slung his arm around Adam's shoulders.

"Let's go home kid."


End file.
